


you're all i breathe

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Allison, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek, Alpha Scott McCall, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, At Risk Pregnancy, Auction Fill, Background Relationships, Barebacking, Bed Rest, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jackson Whittemore, Breeding, Come Swallowing, Coming Untouched, Coming on Skin, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, Face-Fucking, Fpreg, Future Fic, Heat Sex, Implied Bottom Isaac Lahey, Implied Bottom Jordan Parrish, Implied Top Peter Hale, Implied Top Scott McCall, Jackson Is Needy, Jackson Needs People, Just Sex, Kid Fic, Kitchen Sex, Knotting, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Married Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Allison Argent/Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall, Minor Cora Hale/Lydia Martin, Minor Danny Mahealani/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Peter Hale/Jordan Parrish, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Miscommunication, Moving In Together, Mpreg, Multiple Orgasms, Omega Isaac, Omega Jackson, Pack Family, Pack Feels, Pack Healing, Pack Home, Pining, Post-Season/Series 02, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Rebuilt Hale House, Rimming, Romance, Scent Marking, Self-Lubrication, Semi-Public Sex, Sharing Clothes, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Sex, Top Derek Hale, Triplets, coming on command, fuck buddies, pregnancy hormones, tmi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Jackson, coming home is always like remembering how to breathe. Home is where the pack is. Home is where <i>Derek</i> is. Not that Derek is anything more than a casual fuck, not like Cora and Lydia, or like Erica and Boyd, or any of the other pack couples. But when Derek brings up <i>pups</i>, and Jackson's just about to go into heat, what is he supposed to say?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yaoilover12397](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yaoilover12397/gifts).



> This is the first of my auction fics, for the request of Halemore, divergent after season 2, and breeding kink and pack growth. I had fun with this, and I love working with big packs and miscommunication and it was fun to pull it all together. The total story is 8 chapters, and just about 33k long, and will be posted on Sundays and Wednesdays until it was complete. Chapter two will post on Wednesday, March 25.

_May_

 

Coming home is always like remembering how to breathe.

Jackson wonders sometimes if this is what is was like for Scott before he became a werewolf, when his lungs would get so tight that he could barely gasp in air with every inhalation. Every fall when he leaves for college the world seems to crash in around him, tangling his limbs and making his ribs ache; it’s only knowing that he will eventually be back with the pack that gets Jackson through. In the winter he sees a few of them, but the various different school schedules means they trickle through, only a few at a time, and he never quite manages to fill his lungs with them. But then May comes, and after finals they come home in quick waves and they always gather at the Stilinski-McCall house for Memorial Day and Maggie’s birthday, no matter what day of the week it is. 

He’s just arrived back in Beacon Hills after his junior year and they are all there. Jackson finally feels like he’s at home.

Ironic that _home_ isn’t even his own house anymore. Home is this place where Scott grew up and the Stilinskis moved in and there’s a three year old offering chocolate cake to anyone who wants some (and vanilla if they’d rather have that).

Jackson just wants to sink into the feeling of being with his pack, inhale their scents and remind himself that they are still _pack_ and _together_ and that this is where he belongs. He doesn’t need to be in the middle of the mess that is Cora and Isaac wrestling with Maggie on the grass, or Stiles and Scott cheering them on, nor does he want to wedge himself between Erica and Boyd where they’ve managed to take over one camp chair. Danny’s with Lydia and Allison on a blanket, leaning in to talk quietly as they laugh at their respective significant others. Jackson doesn’t need to be in the middle of it to feel like he’s a part of it.

Even the adults feel like pack despite the way they seem to be ignoring everything and chatting off to one side.

The adults. As if Jackson and the others _aren’t_ adults. At twenty-one he knows he is technically an adult himself now, but he still doesn’t feel like it. He wonders when he’ll start to feel it. When he graduates from college in a year? Five years later when he’s stuck in a job and bored out of his skull? The worst of it is that he doesn’t even know what he wants to do yet, and his father’s still under the assumption that he’ll be going to law school as planned.

There is no way in hell that Jackson’s going to another school after this one. He’s _done_ with being outside of Beacon Hills. It worries him, though, that the rest of the pack might see it differently. That they might all be getting ready to scatter in a year, and that _this_ won’t be home anymore because the bulk of the pack will be gone forever.

Not that he’ll say it to any of them. Not that he’ll admit to just how much he needs them.

The party is winding down, even though Maggie seems like she’s still going strong and likely to try to stay up until midnight. “Miss Magdalina Emily Stilinski,” Scott calls out, and his little sister giggles, running across the yard to throw herself into his arms. He catches her and lifts her up, spinning her around while she laughs out loud.

Cora’s watching them, and she looks caught somewhere between wistful and hungry, and Lydia pulls her down onto the blanket with her and snuggles close. It makes Jackson’s skin itch with something unresolved, and he takes a step back toward the house. No one will see him go, if he leaves now. Danny’s attention is on Stiles, and Allison is sitting with Isaac, her fingers digging into his shoulders while he makes little murmured happy sounds that are not appropriate for public. Erica and Boyd have somehow disappeared while he was distracted, and Jackson knows better than to go looking for them.

It might be a good time to step inside and get a drink. 

When he opens the sliding door, voices drift out. 

“No, I haven’t discussed it with him yet, but he’s hasn’t said anything to lead me to believe that he’d be _against_ the idea.” Peter’s words are drawled slowly, punctuated by the sound of a glass against the marble countertop in the kitchen. “I can smell you, Jackson. Don’t linger by the door; it’s rude.”

Jackson tugs the door shut and toes off his shoes to pad barefoot into the kitchen. Peter leans against the island in the middle, and Derek sits on a counter next to the stove. “I never know if you’re going to kill me when I overhear you plotting, or if I’m going to get stuck helping you,” Jackson says dryly. “And honestly, I don’t want to help. It’s summer, and I’m on vacation. My biggest plans involve going to the beach in the morning and spending my father’s money.”

Peter glances at Derek and raises one eyebrow; Derek frowns in response.

“Think on what I said, nephew.” Peter lifts the glass and drains it, leaving it in the sink when he’s done. “If you’ll pardon me, I need to say farewell to the lovely birthday girl and her family as I have another pressing engagement. And while anticipation can be a pleasant thing, I don’t want to leave him waiting too long.”

“Third date with Parrish,” Derek says as the door slides shut behind Peter.

“The guy who works with the Sheriff?” Jackson remembers him from a bomb threat his junior year of high school. Somewhere around Derek’s age, pretty enough that Danny had a thing for him for a solid six months, but Parrish was not at all interested in high school kids. Jackson hadn’t bothered thinking about him much after that.

“That, and a supernatural creature in his own right.” Derek hops off the counter, pads to the fridge and reaches in to pull out two beers. He pops the top off one to hand it to Jackson, keeping the other for himself. “He blew up during an attempt to defuse a bomb last year. Walked out of the explosion shedding burnt skin and perfectly fine. Peter’s been fascinated ever since.”

Jackson makes a face, lifts his drink in a silent toast. “He can have Peter. No offense, but your uncle’s an ass.”

“You meant every word of that offense,” Derek deadpans, and Jackson smirks, because yes, he did. The thing is, Derek’s the kind of asshole that Jackson can joke with, now that they’re older. It’s funny how the chasm that was the eight years difference between a sixteen year old and a twenty-four year old doesn’t seem so bad now that they’re both over the age of twenty.

There’s a shift in the air as Derek sets his glass down on the other side of Jackson, leaving his hand on the counter next to his hip. Derek traps him there, and Jackson’s senses flair, blown wide by the nearness of his alpha. His breath catches when Derek inhales, pressing his mouth to Jackson’s throat to taste his pulse.

“Fuck,” Jackson whispers.

“If you want.” Derek says it like it’s nothing, like it never _is_ anything. But it is. It’s _everything_ because it’s one of the things Jackson misses most when he’s gone, when he can’t smell his alpha or lap at his skin, or be exactly what his alpha needs.

Jackson is so fucked and Derek has no idea.

His eyes flutter closed, and he shrugs one shoulder, tries to control his breathing as Derek shoves in close, crotch to crotch, rutting against him as he pushes him back into the counter. Derek’s hand slides under the edge of his jeans, pushes down to slide one finger between slick cheeks, and Jackson groans, caught by his body’s own reaction.

Derek grins against his throat, nips at his skin. “Wet for me already? You must be desperate, Jackson.”

“You’re the one fingering me in the middle of the fucking kitchen,” Jackson snaps, trying to regain some control over the situation. It doesn’t help when every instinct screams at him to yank down his jeans and turn his ass to Derek, presenting and waiting. “What the fuck do you think I’m going to do?”

There’s a noise and Derek jerks his hand back, turns to the sink and is washing up when Scott walks in with Isaac and Allison, Maggie trailing behind and complaining loudly about not being sleepy at all. Jackson turns towards the counter and counts to ten under his breath, willing the erection away and praying no one asks about the scent in the room.

“I don’t wanna go to bed!” Maggie whines. “It’s my _birthday_. I shouldn’t have to bed yet, right Jackson?”

Allison’s look says clearly that he shouldn’t take the little girl’s side, but Jackson can’t resist. The littlest Stilinski has most of the pack wrapped around her finger already and Jackson is hardly immune. He crouches down, hiding a grimace at the way his jeans pull against his skin, and she runs over to hug him. “Can I stay up with you?” she asks. “Please, Jackson? I’ve missed you.” She bats amber-colored eyes at him, and he laughs, nuzzling her dark hair to make her giggle.

“Jackson actually needs to leave.” Derek dries his hands on the towel, then touches Jackson’s hair, bringing the scent of strawberry soap with him. His entire body goes taut at the touch, and someone in the background makes a strangled noise. Isaac, probably, with Scott hissing at him to be quiet, while Maggie pokes her lower lip out in a pout.

“I’ll come back and play again,” Jackson offers, giving her a loud smack on the cheek then turning his so she can do the same. She’s an affectionate kid, and Jackson never minds it. He _likes_ kids, especially ones who have strong families like Maggie. In a way she’s _his_ family, even though she doesn’t fully understand the pack she’s growing up with, not yet.

“Breakfast?” Maggie asks, and Derek’s fingers tighten just a bit in Jackson’s hair, so he shakes his head.

“On the weekend,” he says. “I’ll take you out.” It gives him three days to figure what to do for the day and who might want to come with him. Lydia’s usually good for a trip to the mall with a kid, and she’s almost as besotted over Maggie as Jackson is, not that she’ll admit it either. “And I’ll spoil you rotten, I promise.”

Maggie beams. “I’m a spoiled brat,” she announces in a sing-song voice. “Best birthday _ever_. Thank you, Jackson!” She dances off, Allison ushering her down the hall, Isaac trailing after her.

Scott pauses in the doorway, turns back to look at them, shaking his head. “Not in the _kitchen_ , dude,” he says with a sigh. “Not even in my _house_.” Jackson doesn’t have to see it—he knows Derek has arched an eyebrow just from the way Scott sighs again before he leaves.

“We’re leaving.” Derek’s fingers drift across Jackson’s head before he pulls away, giving him room to stand up on his own. “Meet me back at the house.”

“The… house?” Jackson frowns because while he remembers that they broke ground last summer for a new house on Hale grounds—they’d had a big party in the woods right before the work started—he hasn’t heard anything about it since.

Derek grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “It’s done. Moved in last weekend, and Cora’s already making plans for Lydia to live with her this summer.”

That hits Jackson like a ton of bricks, but he refuses to let Derek see it. It defines the differences in their relationships so clearly, though. Cora and Lydia have been together since halfway through their senior year of high school, and no one doubts their devotion. Derek started fucking Jackson occasionally after he turned eighteen—refused to lay a hand on him before that—but they aren’t anything to each other. 

Jackson’s fine with that. He is absolutely _fine_ with that.

He curls his hand into a fist, flexes it again and lets the tension escape. “Let me just make my polite goodbyes,” he says quietly. It gives him time to think about this idea of a domestic alpha, and Cora and Lydia living together, and everything that seems to be changing with the pack.

He’s never been good with change, and that’s all they are lately. They leave, they come home, they’re barely together and they leave again. Jackson spends most of his life feeling adrift, and this start to the summer isn’t helping.

It’s not like he has a choice. He has to accept life, whatever happens with it.

#

When Derek said _house_ , Jackson had expected a _house_. Maybe a _large_ house, something like the McMansion his parents live in, but this is a fucking manor home.

It’s three stories high and instead of being a simple square, he can see three distinct _wings_ coming off the central house. He knows there has to be a basement under at least part of it, since he was in the old basement of the burned out remnants, which may mean _four_ floors in use. Jackson isn’t sure how many people are meant to live here, but he’s pretty sure it could fit the entire pack without them tripping over each other too much.

He stands by the Porsche trying to breathe for a moment because _that_ is what he’d want. He wants to finish school and come back to this as a home, with the rest of the pack, maybe tripping over each other a little because that’s part of being _pack_ , but also just knowing that they’re all together. Smelling like pack all the time for once.

Derek waits on the steps leading up to the wrap-around porch that Jackson is sure wasn’t there in the previous incarnation. “What do you think?”

“It’s big.” Jackson isn’t stupid enough to put his emotions on the table. “You’re living here, and Cora and Lydia.”

“Peter’s here as well, and eventually I’m sure he’ll bring someone home, too. There’s room for more.” Derek turns his back on Jackson, leaning a little to look up at the place. “I’ll give you the tour later; that’s not what we’re here for now.”

Jackson can handle this. It’s normal after three years, and it’s what he expects. He smirks, letting it grow into a sharp smile. “Oh, and what exactly _are_ we here for?”

Derek jumps off the stairs, lands in front of Jackson and hooks one finger in his belt loop, tugging him flush against his body. His mouth grazes Jackson’s throat, and Jackson obediently tilts his head, trusting his alpha. “We are here to fuck,” Derek whispers. “We are here so that I can take that pretty little ass of yours bent over in the kitchen, just like you want me to. We are here because you are so fucking ready for me that everyone can smell it.” He slips his hand between Jackson’s skin and his jeans, one finger going between the cheeks of Jackson’s ass, gliding easily through the dripping lubricant. Derek’s breath shudders in his chest, his hips shifting to grind against Jackson. “Fuck.”

“That’s what you said, yeah.” Jackson nudges at Derek, drags his head up to meet him for a kiss, biting at his lip until Derek growls and kisses him back. Jackson lets himself fall into it, feels the way his body reacts, dick hard and aching, ass fully wet and open, begging to be filled. He shoves at Derek, pushing him towards the stairs. “Inside. I am not going to let you fuck me on the front lawn.”

“If you were in heat, you wouldn’t care where we were,” Derek grins sharply, eyes flashing red.

“If I were in heat, I wouldn’t be here,” Jackson counters, because his _heat_ is private. Twice every fucking year, and it’s the worst three days of his life. There’s no dildo big enough, no way to make himself stop aching. He jerks off until he’s red and raw and then he does it again a few more times, praying it’ll be over soon. He fucking _hates_ his heat, but it’s also not the sort of thing he does with anyone else. No human could keep up, no other omega can stand the way he smells, and an alpha… there are risks to that. He nudges at Derek again, then hauls him in for another kiss.

They kiss and shove their way up the stairs and through the door, Derek fumbling with his keys before he gets it open. Neither of them bothers to close it completely. Derek manhandles Jackson and he lets Derek guide him through the house, into a kitchen that looks like it could swallow some small restaurants. Jackson doesn’t have much time to appreciate it before Derek has him facing the island, his hands planted for stability while Derek jerks his jeans down and helps Jackson kick them off.

Derek grips Jackson’s thighs, helps him spread his legs, opening his stance, presenting his ass to Derek. Hands slide up, cup the cheeks of his ass before Derek uses his thumbs to part them, exposing his dripping hole. Derek nuzzles in close, breath warm against Jackson’s skin, and he groans, hips jerking forward and back, fucking into air and trying to press back, begging for more touch.

“What do you want?” Derek murmurs, and Jackson’s mind spins out of control. He wants to be fucked, he wants to be licked, he wants to be taken apart moment by moment until he’s screaming. He wants to be held, he wants to be brutalized, he wants to be told that Derek missed him. He wants so many fucking things, and most of all, he aches for the alpha to his omega, and he doesn’t want him to know just how much he _wants_.

“You,” Jackson whispers. “However, the fuck you want me, I want _you_.” 

A tongue swipes against his asshole, pressing in, opening him up as if he isn’t already wet and open for Derek. As if his body didn’t automatically go into overdrive as soon as he smelled him. Jackson whines, presses back and gets two fingers sliding into him, pushing deep and crooking to stroke him from the inside until he cries out. It isn’t enough, though. Nothing is ever quite enough.

“Come,” Derek whispers, his tongue laving around the edge of his hole while he fucks him hard with his fingers. “Come for me, Jackson.”

And Jackson does, his body jerking with the need to obey his alpha, dick twitching as he paints the side of the cabinet in sticky white stripes. It doesn’t stop the _need_ , and he leans his head down, the marble of the counter cool against his hot skin. “Please,” he whispers, warm breath puffing back at him, trapped in the circle of his arms. “ _Please_.”

“I know what you want,” Derek murmurs. He kisses Jackson’s ass then withdraws his fingers, pulling back enough to shuck his jeans and toss them to one side. He doesn’t bother taking it slow, thrusting in, bottoming out in one stroke. He takes Jackson hard, fucking into him, stroke after stroke until Jackson cries out with the need to be filled. He gasps, and Derek gives it to him again and again until there’s nothing left but the brutal pounding.

Derek groans loudly, driving deep as he spurts inside of Jackson, and that triggers another orgasm, Jackson’s dick weakly jerking through his second release.

When Derek pulls out, he picks Jackson up, cradling him as he stalks through the halls into the left hand wing and up one flight of stairs to the middle floor. By the time Jackson is laid gently on the bed, stripped of his remaining clothes, his eyes are already starting to close. Jackson inhales their combined scent, and rolls over, rubbing his cheek against the pillow, determined to leaves his scent there as well before he falls asleep.

#

Jackson wakes alone in the bed, the scent of sex heavy in the air around him. He feels a twist in his gut, familiar and unwanted because it’s not due for a few weeks yet. On the other hand, this wouldn’t be the first time that coming home has brought on an early heat.

What it means is that he has to get out of here before Derek smells it on him and before things get out of hand. He may never have seen an alpha caught by an omega’s rut before, but when he first took on the wolf form, Deaton went over the specifics of werewolf biology and he was very careful to ensure that Jackson knew _everything_ it could possibly entail.

Because _of course_ there are nasty side effects for becoming superhuman.

He’s looking through Derek’s drawers for a pair of sweats that might fit when he catches Derek’s scent. He turns, a shirt already in hand and held loosely in front of himself, just as Derek walks into the room. Derek’s nostrils flare, and Jackson tilts his head, chin up and stubborn.

“I need to go,” Jackson says, and Derek points to the bed.

“Sit down. We need to talk.”

It isn’t what he wants to do, but he doesn’t really have a choice when he hears that note in Derek’s voice. He sits far more quickly than planned, and Derek sighs, scrubbing a hand through his own hair before he sits next to him. “Sorry,” Derek says quietly. “This isn’t an alpha to pack conversation. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Jackson blinks a few times, trying to read the expression that Derek holds in check. “Then what is it? Because I do have a home and parents who are probably wondering why the hell I was out all night without calling.”

“I had Lydia let them know you were here,” Derek says. “This is a pack house. I expect that all of you will be here more often than not, eventually. There’s plenty of room.”

There could be an invitation in that, if Jackson tried to read between the words, but he’s not sure so he stays silent. His skin itches, and he wants to shower and get the scent of Derek off of him before his heat comes. He knows how to handle this, how to be safe, and he feels like time is ticking away from him the longer he sits here.

When Derek’s hand lightly strokes down his back, Jackson flinches; Derek pulls away, expression blank.

“Well?” Jackson prods, irritation making his tone sharp. “You said we had to talk. So _talk_.”

“You’re due to go into heat in a few weeks.” Derek drops the words like he has no idea what Jackson’s thinking, like each one is carefully measured and weighed before he lets it out. “I want you to spend it here.”

Jackson searches the tone for any sense of an order and doesn’t find it. This isn’t alpha to pack, isn’t even alpha ordering an omega. This is… a request. And one that doesn’t come easily, given the way that Derek sits hunched in on himself, staring at the floor rather than at Jackson.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question, because there’s only one reason Jackson can think of. Only one reason that an alpha and omega spend heat together and _that_ … Jackson doesn’t even know what he thinks of it. He’s known it could be a possibility since he was seventeen, and four years later it still sounds weird. Odd. Unexpected and he doesn’t know exactly how it works. 

The image burrows into his mind, surprisingly vivid and bright. He can see himself standing there with his belly burgeoning, his body heavy with the weight of an unborn child, and he shivers at the thought. “No,” he whispers. “No. I can’t. I still have a year of school. I don’t care that wolves are… I don’t _care_. Men aren’t meant to have babies, Derek. And you _know_ that’s what would happen. And then… we’d be…” He doesn’t even know how to put it into words because _children_ are important. He knows, more than anyone, what it is like not to know exactly where you came from. He knows what it means to have parents who want you.

He can’t do it. He’s not a father. He’s not meant to be a father and he and Derek are _nothing_ to each other, not more than occasional fuck buddies when Jackson’s around. He shakes his head, tries to control the tremors running through his body as hormones insist that it’s not so bad, he could do it, maybe he might want it. He fights against instinct and shakes his head again, whispering, “No. You don’t want this. You just smell the hormones and you think—”

“It’s not that.” Derek interrupts him, puts a hand on the nape of his neck, fingers curling in and claws tipped against his skin. “I’ve been planning to ask you since December, but you wouldn’t talk to me then.”

Jackson remembers hiding in his room for his winter heat, praying for it to end and hoping no one interrupted. He was thankful for the cruise his parents always took just before Christmas that gave him time and privacy to get his body under control before the crush of the holidays began. He closes his eyes, breathes in a deep shuddering breath. “Why?”

“I want cubs,” Derek whispers. He’s closer then, lips brushing against Jackson’s jawline and sending licks of fire down his spine. “I want to knot you and fill you up, Jackson. I want to breed you so fucking hard, and I want your babies. I want our pack to _grow_.”

Jackson turns his head away, but he tilts it at the same time, giving Derek access to his throat. Nips and bites leave him shaking with need, and Derek hasn’t even touched anything but his neck. He aches with how desperate he is for him, with how the words make his body want to do things that his mind isn’t sure about. “Why _me_?”

“Why not you?” Derek catches his earlobe, tugs lightly with just a hint of teeth, and Jackson whines softly. Derek touches him, lets his hand drift over his chest and down to his abdomen, pressing lightly. “I want to fill you up,” he whispers, teeth raking against the skin between throat and shoulder, sucking a mark there. “You’re _my_ omega.”

Jackson cries out on the word, that one possessive word. It means nothing, he knows that. He’s Derek’s first bite, his first member of the pack. They are bound in ways that he isn’t bound to Isaac or Erica or Boyd, with a bond he could never have shared with Scott. But it doesn’t meant anything more than that.

“I don’t know.” Jackson manages to pull away, leaving the shirt behind as he comes to his feet, his erection obvious and dripping, just from the way Derek is touching him. His ass is soaked, and he wants nothing more than to roll over, present it like a gift to Derek, let him plunge into him. He wonders if the knot would satisfy the heat, if for the first time he wouldn’t feel like something was missing when he was writhing in hunger and need. But he can’t let his body speak for him, not with an entire future on the line. Not when _everything_ after this would be changed.

He forces himself to look at Derek, to keep his voice even. “I need to think about it,” he says slowly. “I need to go _home_ and I need to think about it.”

“Lydia’s pregnant.” Derek’s words are quick and sharp, and Jackson feels the swift strike of betrayal that he’s finding out like this rather than from Lydia herself. Derek keeps talking, as if he thinks Jackson’s going to run away. “So’s Erica. I don’t think she knows yet, but I could smell it on her. The pack is growing, Jackson, and I want to see it grow more. I want this house filled with everyone and their cubs. I want us all to be a _pack_.”

Jackson swipes the shirt from the bed, yanks it over his head and ignores the way his dick juts out from beneath it. He digs through Derek’s drawer and finds a pair of sweats, pulling them on and hating the way he’s going to mess up the driver’s seat in his Porsche with the sticky fluids from his ass soaking through. “I’ll call you,” he mutters. “Just give me time. I need to think about it.”

He needs to talk to Deaton, and to Lydia and Erica. He needs to talk to Danny—the one person in this entire pack who isn’t completely caught up in the supernatural. He needs to go over it when his head isn’t swimming with the scent of Derek. He needs to get away and _think_.

Derek doesn’t move, his hands clasped tight where he holds them between his knees. “Fine,” he says sharply. “Go home, Jackson. Figure it out. I’m not going to force you into anything.”

He could, Jackson knows. Derek’s an alpha by biology and the pack alpha. He’s Jackson’s superior twice over, and all he needs to do is say the word and Jackson would be on his knees to be fucked into the ground and bred so hard he’s seeing stars for days. Derek could _make_ him do this.

The fact that he doesn’t means a lot to Jackson. He ducks his head in quiet submission, then nods once. “My heat isn’t in a few weeks,” he admits. “It’s coming soon, probably by the weekend.” He remembers his promise to Maggie and realizes that he’s going to have to break that, and fuck Derek’s pheromones for making that happen. “I’ll let you know by then.”

A few days isn’t enough to make a decision like this, but it’s going to have to be. Jackson doesn’t have any longer.

 


	2. May, Part 2

_May, part 2_

 

“I hate you.” Erica pulls her feet up to sit cross-legged on Jackson’s bed, her lower lip stuck out in a pout. “This was supposed to be my big announcement at the barbecue on Sunday, and you’ve stolen my thunder.”

“You live with a pack of people who learn more from their noses than their eyes,” Lydia points out mildly. “You can’t blame werewolves for noticing the scent of pregnancy. Cora knew almost as soon as I’d conceived.”

She’s three months along, and now that Jackson knows to look for it he can see the gentle curve to her belly, the softness that will soon burgeon out to cradle a child. His breath hitches, and he looks away, digging through the books in his closet that Stilinski left there last summer. There has to be something useful here.

“Why the interest in babies, Jackson?” Erica reaches out with one foot, plants her toe against his ass and nudges hard. “Sad you weren’t the one to plant it? I didn’t think that’d be your thing.”

He snorts, the sound dry and sharp. “We’re both omegas for reproductive purposes. I don’t even want to be _near_ you when you go into heat. I’m just wondering what made you decide to do it now?”

Erica glances at Lydia, who sits on the other end of the bed, back against the wall, idly painting her nails a dark rosy blush. “I’m guessing our reasons are different. Boyd and I—I’m going to be a teacher, and that means in two years I’m starting a hard road of substitute teaching until I get a full time job, and I’ll probably have more time to raise a kid right now. And he’s a mechanic. He can start his own business eventually, probably whenever I get settled in at a school and we know where we’re living.”

Jackson’s breath catches and he disguises the sound by making a small pleased noise when he finds the book, buried under three pairs of shoes and some old lacrosse shorts. He pulls it out and takes it to his desk, looking through it intently while Erica keeps talking.

“It just seems like a good time. Like there’s something in the air that says _do it now_.” Erica tosses something at his back and waits for him to turn around and look at her before she shrugs. “Does there have to be a good reason? Boyd and I have been together since we were sixteen, and when I went into heat this time we just figured… why not? We’re going to still be together in another five, ten, twenty years, and we know we’ll have kids someday. And his knot feels _really_ fucking good, if we’re going to be blunt about things.”

Jackson scowls. “We don’t need to be that blunt, Erica.”

“I’ve read that for a male omega, heat sex is completely unsatisfying unless it is with an alpha.” Lydia carefully caps the nail polish bottle and sets it aside, blowing lightly on her fingertips. “While reproduction is always a drive during any sexual encounter, the need for a knot is much higher in a male omega.” She raises both eyebrows. “I’ve also read that once a male omega has produced children, heat sex becomes bearable, as if satisfying the need to reproduce once dulls the senses for later heats. They are also more likely to produce a litter of pups, and to potentially become less fertile throughout subsequent heats, unlike female omegas who tend towards singles and twins, and remain fertile throughout much of their lifetime.”

Jackson glances back at the book, then looks to Lydia, because frankly, she’s probably read everything he’s looking for. If he can ask the right questions, he doesn’t need to read it himself.

Her expression gentles. “Just ask, Jackson. No one will be surprised if you choose to carry Derek’s pups. After all, you’ve been together for years now.”

“We’ve been fucking for years,” he corrects. “Not together like you and Cora, or like Erica and Boyd. Not even like the wonder trio, whatever the fuck they are.”

“It’s called polyamory,” Erica volunteers. “And personally, I think it sounds hot, even if it’s not my personal kink. I mean think about it—no matter what, I’m sure two out of three of them are up for sex at any one moment, and sometimes it’s probably three out of three. More hands than a person knows what to do with, and multiple tongues. Not to mention the post-coital cuddle factor.”

He scowls at her. “Not the point, and frankly, I don’t care.”

“Jackson.” Lydia’s voice is low, calm, and she looks at him like she’s waiting for him to ask something. So he does.

“Why did you do it?” he asks, because he knows her reasons will be different than Erica’s.

“Because we can,” Lydia replies. “Because Cora is biologically an alpha, and as a supernatural female, I can accept her impregnation. And because Cora wants children.” She smiles slightly, a fond expression Jackson remembers from years ago but that has belonged entirely to Cora since their senior year. “She says it’s a pack impetus. Because the Hale pack was nearly destroyed years ago, and now that we’re settled and stable, it’s time to expand. No more biting, though. Now we need the next generation.”

“What about the future?” It weighs on him, because Lydia was always the strongest of them all. The one they expected to do great things, to win awards and fame for her mind.

She tilts her head as Erica cackles. “If you think that having a _child_ means I can’t have a _future_ , then you need to think again,” Lydia says dryly. “We’re a _pack_ and I’m not going to become a housebound mom who has no other life. I can research from home. I can _work_ from home. I already intend to finish my final semester primarily online and work with my advisor on my thesis so that I can graduate in December. We have a plan, Jackson. Life doesn’t end with pregnancy.”

“You’re expected to be pregnant.” That doesn’t come out right, and Jackson resists taking a step back when both girls glare at him. He presses his lips together thinly, irritated at their assumption. “Once I get pregnant, I can’t leave the house. That’s it, I’m stuck inside. Because out there, in the non-supernatural world, men don’t get pregnant.”

Lydia reaches for her bag and tucks her things into it, neatly putting bottles and tins into pockets, then withdrawing one to pass across to Erica who puts it in her pocket. “When are you going into heat?” Lydia asks as she stands up, smoothing down her skirt.

He can feel it pricking at his skin, getting closer and closer with every breath. He thinks his estimate of a few days was off; he’ll probably wake up in full rut in the morning. Jackson sighs. “Tomorrow, Friday at the latest. It’s coming a few weeks early, like usual.”

Lydia purses her lips. “Funny how that happens when you come home, isn’t it?” She leans in to kiss his cheek. “I’ll make sure Cora and I are away for the weekend, and I’ll notify Peter as well. Perhaps I’ll spend the weekend at the McCall household and distract Maggie for you. I’ll let her know you’ll come to spoil her terribly as soon as you can.”

He’s about to ask why she and Cora will be away, but Erica leans in and pats his cheek, murmuring, “Don’t be an idiot, Jackson. We all know what’s going to happen, and we’re all in this together. Besides, think about how much mileage you can get out of convincing Derek to wait on you hand and foot. Boyd’s been tripping over himself since I took the test two days ago. Just go and enjoy it.”

They think they know what he’s going to do, but Jackson isn’t sure. They make it sound so easy, like they hardly had to think about it at all, but Jackson can’t _stop_ thinking about it. He shuts the door and stands in front of the mirror on the back, strips his shirt off and looks at his belly.

He slouches, but even then it’s impossible to make it round. He’s got a _good_ body, he always has. He doesn’t want that to change.

But when he thinks about the idea of his heat, and the possibility of having Derek knot him, having kids doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. He could do it once. Chances are he’d have at least twins, probably more, and Derek wouldn’t need more kids after that. He’d have his hands full, Jackson could go back to school after taking a year off. It’d all work out.

And in the meantime he’s stuck with a raging hard-on and the barest beginnings of heat prickling over him and he hopes he can figure this out without getting in so deep that he can’t get out again.

#

Twelve hours later he’s standing on Derek’s doorstep, alternately ringing the doorbell and pounding his fist against the wooden door while his body shivers in the chill of the hours before dawn. He whines, and pounds on the door again, feeling the wood give, splinters slipping under his skin as he simply hits it harder.

Derek pulls it back while Jackson is mid-strike; he catches Jackson’s wrist in his hand, turns it to look at the blood and frowns.

“Yes,” Jackson blurts out. “Yes. Fucking yes. Just fucking knot me already, and make this stop. I hurt from jerking off, and I’m so fucking wet that the seat of the Porsche is probably ruined.”

“We’ll get it cleaned.” Derek yanks him in and pushes him back against the door as he closes it, nuzzling into his throat, nipping and licking at the skin. “Fuck, you taste good. You’re such a fucking good omega for me. And shit…” Derek’s hand rests against Jackson’s abdomen and the words fade as Derek leans his head against Jackson’s shoulder.

There’s a soft whuffle of warm air against Jackson’s skin, but nothing more. He closes his eyes, breathes in the scent of his alpha, lets it out slow and shuddering. One hand drifts over Derek’s back, tugging him closer, fitting their bodies neatly together. “I said yes,” Jackson whispers.

“I know.” Derek frames his face, kisses him slow and deep, like they have forever and Jackson’s body isn’t raging to be filled. He explores his mouth with slow, teasing strokes, until Jackson whines, shifting his hips, trying for more friction. Derek smirks and nudges him back, holds himself away from Jackson while he kisses him again, slow and easy, just enough to drive him completely mad.

“Let’s take the edge off,” Derek murmurs, sliding down Jackson’s body and opening his jeans. He tugs them down, manages to get Jackson’s cock out and swallows him down. It’s warm and wet and smells like alpha, and Jackson hits his head against the door when his entire body bows, he’s coming so hard.

It doesn’t help.

“Derek, fuck, I need you inside me.” Jackson has a bag of things that he dropped just inside the door—the kinds of things every omega werewolf has to help them through. He’s desperate enough that he’d fuck himself in front of Derek, just to get something inside his body, but that would also mean moving away from where he is. And while Derek is nosing at his still hard cock, pressing his mouth to the space behind Jackson’s balls, Jackson doesn’t want to move at all.

“Not yet.” The words are murmured against his skin, licked into his soul. “Going to tire you out first, make it so you can think. Then we’ll go upstairs and rest, _then_ I’m going to knot you so hard you’ll be coming for hours.”

It occurs to Jackson that it’s the _middle of the fucking night_. That he just showed up on Derek’s doorstep at half past three in the morning and demanded to be let in, and Derek’s doing him a _favor_ by sucking him off until he’s absolutely senseless.

He’s nearly limp with hunger, lets Derek manhandle him out of his clothes and into the living room until Jackson’s standing behind the couch, bent over and ass in the air. Derek is behind him, a dildo gently sliding in before his tongue licks at Jackson’s rim.

It’s all too much and not enough at the same time. Jackson cries out, fucks forward so his cock brushes against the couch, then pushes back into the feel of the dildo and the tongue. “Please,” he whispers. “Oh fuck, _please_.” Derek obliges by twisting the dildo, pushing it deeper until Jackson is pulsing again, ruining the plush fabric of the couch because he can’t stop fucking coming. By the time he feels Derek’s tongue push into him, lapping at his juices, Jackson’s exhausted. His knees are shaky, body trembling and he pleads for more, for something, to be able to just fucking please his alpha.

“Not yet,” Derek says quietly. “You’re not ready, not yet.”

Jackson has no idea what he’s talking about because he _feels_ ready. He’s _sure_ he’s ready to have Derek’s knot so far up his ass that he sees stars for days. And he needs to do _something_ because he’s not a good omega, not when his alpha still smells like unresolved arousal, his cock hard and tenting his pajama pants.

Jackson lets his legs go limp, slithers to the floor and turns around to sit with the sofa at his back, reaching up to pull Derek’s pants down. “Let me,” he begs, and Derek moves forward, presses the tip against Jackson’s lips. “Fuck my mouth,” Jackson whispers. “Come all over me, let me please you.”

Derek cradles his head in his hands, closes his eyes as he fucks into Jackson’s willing mouth. He’s just a receptacle, there to please his alpha, able to take whatever his alpha gives him. And Jackson _wants_ this. He wants the way Derek’s thick cock makes his mouth feel bruised as he stretches open for him. He wants the hard, swift twist of Derek’s hips, fucking into the warmth. He whines when Derek’s hips stutter, and he reaches up to grip his ass, clinging with claws tipped out, swallowing around his cock until Derek is coming.

Derek pulls out, sprays sticky stripes over Jackson’s face and chest, leans in again to let Jackson lick him clean. He whines and nuzzles at Derek because it’s not enough, not yet. Not until Derek is inside of him.

“You need rest,” Derek murmurs, reaching down to help Jackson up, cradling him close. They stumble to the stairs, and the trip to Derek’s room is a blur. It still smells like them from the morning, smells like coming home when Jackson tumbles into bed, burrows down under the covers. Derek helps strip them both, then curls in behind Jackson, spooning him with his soft cock nestled in the wet crack of Jackson’s ass.

“Sleep,” Derek tells him, stroking his hand over Jackson’s skin. There is a sense of the alpha in the word, and Jackson has no choice but to close his eyes and let go.

#

Jackson wakes to the smell of sex and the feel of a hard cock rutting against his empty ass. He whines, pushes back, whispering Derek’s name, and that’s all it takes for Derek to fuck into him, driving deep in one stroke. It surprises an orgasm out of him, body jerking tautly as he comes on the sheets, but it’s still not enough.

“I need your knot,” Jackson whines, and Derek’s hand smoothes over his hip, strokes him gently.

“I know, baby, I know.” Derek touches his stomach, splays his hand there. “I’m going to fill you, give you my pups,” Derek whispers, hand anchoring them both as he jerks his hips, fucking into him slowly. “You’re going to get so fat with my pups. I’m going to knot you and fill you up.” His movement stutters, and Jackson feels the drag at his rim, knows Derek is starting to grow.

He wiggles, manages to get himself over on his hands and knees, giving Derek plenty of room to thrust behind him. “Please,” Jackson whispers. “Give it to me.”

“You should see yourself,” Derek says softly. His hips have slowed, the drag on Jackson’s ass thick and hard. “You’re so open for me, so wet. Just waiting for my knot, aren’t you? You’ve never had a real knot, because it’s _mine_ you’re meant to have. My knot, my pups.” He groans, and Jackson feels his movement slow, turning to little thrusts that keep him filled more than he can even imagine. More than the dildos, more than his fingers. It feels like more than a fucking fist inside of him. 

“Oh fuck.” Derek’s voice shudders. “Come on, baby. I want to feel you come around me.” He strokes Jackson’s cock with a slick hand and Jackson cries out, wordless sounds begging for completion. He pushes back, tries to drive Derek’s knot deeper inside of him, and then he’s coming so hard that he sees stars and can’t breathe, struggling to find something stable as he collapses against the sheets.

Derek fucks into him one more time, and Jackson _feels_ when he comes, feels the spurt of warmth and the way it keeps going, like one drawn out orgasm for five fucking minutes. And it feels _good_.

For a moment, Jackson is sated.

Derek’s hand touches his belly reverently, just a gentle wisp of a touch. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“Don’t get melancholy yet,” Jackson mutters. “I still have another twenty four hours of being fucked into the mattress, thanks. We are not _done_ until my heat is _done_.”

He doesn’t know what to do with the gentle kisses that pepper across his shoulder blades, or the soft touches to his skin. Jackson clenches down, working the muscles of his ass around the cock that is still rigidly tied inside him. He slowly fucks himself on it, until his own cock is hard as a rock again and he’s slipping into the haze of forgetting everything but the sex.

There’s a moment when Derek starts to move, when he fucks into him hard, but by the time Derek starts to come again Jackson is half-unconscious after two more orgasms, and lying in a pool of sticky mess.

The sex lasts, on and off, all day, interspersed with moments of rest and sleep, and an occasional break to remember to eat.

By the time darkness falls, Jackson is exhausted and falls asleep with Derek rutting into him; the last thing he remembers is the feel of Derek’s knot filling him, and come spilling into him again.

#

He wakes after dawn, sprawled across the bed, sated and sticky. Derek is still unconscious, and Jackson looks at him, little bits from the previous day filtering back through his mind.

_You’re such a fucking good omega, baby._

_We’re going to make beautiful pups. Our beautiful, perfect pups._

_Fill you up, get you pregnant._

He remembers his name whispered over and over like a benediction or a prayer. He remembers Derek touching his stomach, talking about how big he’d get. How many children they’d have.

Jackson remembers it all vividly, and in the brutal, sudden clarity of post-heat, it all twists together in a panicked mess in his gut and he thinks he might be sick.

He stumbles from the bed and into the bathroom, grabs his phone from the floor on the way by. His stomach stays put, but the shivers start as he sinks to sit in the tub, not sure he wants to touch anything else. It’s his first heat with someone else and it’s _messy_ and _uncomfortable_ and he doesn’t quite know what to do with his body now. Or what to do with _Derek_ , who is just sleeping out there like this is _okay_ and _normal_ and Jackson knows it’s nothing like normal. At least it isn’t for him.

His breath shudders as he taps out a message: _I need a shower._

The answer comes more quickly than he expected, and he breathes a little more easily at the idea that Danny is already awake. 

_Just got back from a run with Stiles. Why do you need MY shower?_

Jackson has a history of being an asshole and doing shit in the wrong order. He should’ve told Danny _before_ he asked for the bite, or at least _after_ he got bitten, not waiting until after he’d died as the kanima and come back as a werewolf. And yeah, he probably should’ve mentioned his plans to Danny _before_ he let Derek get him pregnant.

Because Jackson _is_ pregnant. He doesn’t need a test, doesn’t need to _guess_. They had sex so much that his ass still aches, even with werewolf healing, and Derek knotted him multiple times. Jackson’s an omega, he’s built for this, and more importantly… his heat’s over two days early.

He is most definitely fucking pregnant.

_I let Derek knot me and I’m not ready to go home. And I can’t stay here_.

He stares at the words before he presses send, realizing that he can’t say what he knows, not yet. Or maybe just not like this. Even though he feels like everyone knows—Lydia knew he was going to do it even before Jackson made the decision, after all—it’s too hard to say it aloud.

Jackson sets the phone on the edge of the tub and lowers his head to his knees, just breathing in and out. When the phone chimes, he glances over and sees _okay_ and he thinks that yeah, everything _will_ be okay. Somehow. He just needs… he just needs some help from his friends figuring this all out.

He pulls on a random pair of sweats and t-shirt that have been left in the bathroom. They fit surprisingly well, and he wonders if Derek left them for him, and for just a moment he considers staying until Derek’s awake.

_No_.

He moves as quietly as he can, slipping out of the bedroom and down the stairs. His car’s still outside, but he doesn’t feel right driving it now, not as gross as he feels. Instead he starts running, lets the wolf take over and carry him through the trees and out towards town.

He avoids people as much as he can, nodding to the few he sees when he gets to Danny’s street. And yeah, there’s the Jeep parked in the street. Fuck, he doesn’t want to deal with Stiles right now, but he doesn’t want to go anywhere _else_ , either. So he stands at the door, does his best not to shake as he pounds on the door.

“Don’t break the door down, dude.” Stiles yanks it open, motions for Jackson to get in. “Remember, the general population of Beacon Hills doesn’t know about the supernatural side of things, and it _might_ just be a little awkward trying to explain if you wreck the house.”

“Good to see you, too,” Jackson says dryly, even though it’s _not_. “You can go now.”

“Uh, no. You’re interrupting date day, and I’m sticking around. Besides, Danny says you’re knocked up and I want to hear how this happened.”

“Stiles.” Danny puts an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, tugs him inside the house and Jackson can see the way his hand tightens in warning. “Let Jackson go shower. You and I are going to go finish making breakfast.”

“You take away all my fun.” Stiles nudges Danny, who nudges him back.

“I’ve been watching you two snipe at each other since we were in diapers,” Danny tells him. “I’d be jealous if I didn’t know better.”

“It’s _not_ foreplay,” Stiles protests, while Jackson mimes choking and the potential to be ill.

Childish, yes. But it feels good and normal and maybe it’s not a bad thing that Stiles is with Danny right now. It makes it seem like any other day, except for the part where Jackson can still smell Derek on his skin and the pheromones of heat still linger in his nose.

Danny waits until Stiles heads off to the kitchen before reaching out to grab Jackson’s wrist. “You okay?”

“Not really,” Jackson says, because he’s being honest. But at the same time… “Yeah, I am. I will be. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

The shower gives him a chance to think, to try to recenter his brain. No matter how much he washes, he can’t get the scent of Derek off of him, as if it has settled into his skin and mixed with his own. Jackson doesn’t know enough about alphas and omegas to know if that’s because he let Derek knot him or if it’s just that there’s too much scent to get rid of it all at once.

Or maybe it’s his nose. Maybe he’s just imaging still smelling them together, because it smells so fucking _good_.

He can’t go down that road. 

By the time he makes it downstairs, his skin is red and healing from the heat, and he feels like he should be a shriveled prune. Stiles surprisingly doesn’t say a word, just drops a stack of pancakes onto a plate and pushes it toward Jackson, while Danny adds what looks like a half pound of bacon and four eggs.

It isn’t enough. Jackson inhales it all and goes looking for more, and by the time he’s done the kitchen looks like the entire pack has been there, piled with empty cartons and boxes. But Jackson finally feels replete, his stomach distended from the food.

He leans back and touches his belly, feels the taut muscle and wonders what it’s going to be like soon.

“So,” Danny says, and Jackson feels the tension slip back in to tighten the back of his neck.

“Derek asked if I’d be willing to have a cub for him,” Jackson says quietly. “So I spent my heat at his place.”

Danny and Stiles exchange a look, and Jackson realizes that this isn’t a surprise. “Lydia,” Stiles explains, and that makes sense even though it makes Jackson grumble because why isn’t his life _private_ anymore?

“The entire pack seems to be on a reproductive kick,” Stiles says. He looks to Danny, smirks. “Except us.”

“Normal humans, not going to be getting pregnant any time soon.” Danny shrugs. “And I’m not feeling the need to adopt. We are going to have plenty of little ones to spoil soon enough, and if I want them closer, I still have six younger siblings in this _house_ every time I come home.”

“We should get an apartment,” Stiles muses. “Privacy is nice.”

“Did you just ask me to move in with you?” Danny raises an eyebrow and Stiles flushes, stammering when both Danny and Jackson laugh. Stiles refuses to look at either of them, even when Danny touches his hand in a gentle stroke that carries more affection than words could.

Jackson looks away, uncomfortable at watching the moment that looks like it should be private.

Danny knocks Jackson’s foot under the table. “Do you want to talk about it?”

That’s why he came here, to rant and panic, but now Jackson is feeling more settled even if he still feels like he might have made a mistake. He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s done,” he says, and that’s the worst of it. He doesn’t know if he made the decision with a clear mind or if he was clouded by heat hunger. He’s pretty sure if he had the chance, he’d do it again, and honestly, “It was fucking awesome. Best heat I’ve had, and shortest heat.”

“You’re definitely pregnant,” Stiles says, and Jackson fixes him with a glare because he _knew_ that already.

“I get that,” Jackson mutters. “And it’s Derek’s kid and that means _we_ are having kids, and what the fuck was I even thinking? I have to finish my degree. Figure out what the fuck I want to do with my life. This was not an intelligent decision.”

“Lydia’s not letting a thing like having kids get in the way of her plans,” Stiles points out. “You’re pregnant, not dead, Jackson.”

“And if the whole pack is going through it, you’ve got a support group. Isn’t that the point of pack?” Danny gives him a look and it’s amazing how Danny always manages to make him feel like he’s missing the obvious.

“Besides, Derek’s been nesting all year. Obviously he wants to fill that house with family.”

Jackson can see that now, and knows that when he has this cub (or cubs), that’s where the kid will grow up. It’ll be in that brand new Hale house, with Cora and Lydia, and whoever else moves in there. And it hits Jackson that if he goes back to school, he’s going to miss all of that. He won’t be there for birthdays or pack events, and life will go on without him.

And Derek _knows_ that. He _knows_ because Jackson’s never been anything more than a fuck.

“I’m not going to just give my kid to Derek,” he grumbles, because that’s what _his_ parents did. They just gave their kid away and he doesn’t want _his_ kid to end up reeling from the idea of abandonment when he finds out. “This is _my_ cub, and I’m going to be involved.”

He doesn’t know how to interpret the way Stiles is about to say something and Danny shushes him, or the look they exchange afterward. All Jackson knows is that Derek may have started them down this road, but Jackson has a say in where they go, too. And he is damn well going to make his voice known.

This is _his_ baby, not just Derek’s. He is going to _own_ this fucking pregnancy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will post on Sunday, March 29th. See you then! If you would like to find me in the meantime, I will be [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	3. August

_August_

 

Jackson manages to avoid explaining anything to his parents until he’s almost three months pregnant. They find him on the floor of the bathroom, pale and exhausted from nausea, and he has to remind them that he’s a _werewolf_ and he can’t go to the hospital. In fact, they have a _vet_ and besides, it’s _normal_ to puke your guts out three times a day when you’re pregnant.

They don’t take it well.

They come around, of course, although his father isn’t happy that he won’t be going back to campus for the fall semester. Jackson admits that he already deferred his education for a year and that’s why the bills for the semester went missing. It takes another hour before everyone is happy and settled, but Jackson realizes that he really can’t live there. Not with his mom hovering over him to make sure he’s not so sick he’s damaging himself, or the way his dad keeps giving him a disappointed _look_.

He packs his things together quickly—he’s used to packing for college and he really doesn’t need more than that right now—and calls Lydia.

“If it requires me to walk anywhere, I am not going,” she says sharply. “My feet hurt. Or, if you are so inclined, you could get your ass over here and help me out by rubbing them, since Cora’s not here.”

“I’m not rubbing your feet, Lydia. I’m moving in.” He keeps his voice low because he knows it’s going to spark another argument with his parents, but in the end he thinks he’ll be more comfortable at the pack house. He’s been going over regularly, because spending time near Derek and other members of the pack settles his wolf and his stomach. It’s really only a small step to actually living there.

There’s silence on the other end of the phone, and Jackson can only think it means one thing. “Are you going to tell me _not_ to move in?”

“Does Derek know?” she finally asks. “He didn’t mention it.”

“Just made the decision, so no, you’re the first person I’ve called.”

“You should call Derek.” He can almost hear the way her pursed lips twist her voice, and the heavy sigh before she adds, “I have a key for you. But call Derek first. I’ll see you soon.”

The phone clicks and Jackson’s gut twists. For a moment he wonders if he’s going to have to make a run for the bathroom again, but he’s not sick, just nervous. He puts his hand against his belly, presses against it as if he could feel the baby that hasn’t started to show yet, and he breathes in slowly, trying to center himself.

Derek picks up on the first ring, and Jackson’s ass hits the bed he sits down so fast when he hears his voice.

“What is it, Jackson? Is everything okay?” There’s a note of worry that comes into Derek’s voice when Jackson doesn’t say anything right away.

“I’m moving in.” The words are barely a whisper, but he knows Derek can hear them. “I’m already packed with what I need right away, I can get anything else later. I’ll bring it over. Lydia says she has a key for me.”

There’s a low exhalation. “What do you want for dinner, Jackson?” Derek asks quietly.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“Unless you’re going to start cooking, you already know Cora’s best thing to make is take out, and Lydia refuses to even try right now. If you’re craving something specific, tell me now, or you’re going to get whatever sounds good when I stop at the store on the way home.” Derek tone is carefully patient, but there’s something else, something that Jackson can’t read behind it.

“Do you _want_ me to move in? Because if you don’t, I’ll just get a fucking apartment with Danny and Stilinski and put up some soundproofing so I don’t have to listen to them banging all the time,” Jackson mutters. There’s a twisting sensation in his gut again, and he looks at his things, wondering if he can really stand being around Stiles all the time if he convinces Danny to get an apartment. 

“Yes, Jackson.” There’s nothing else, no more for Jackson to try to tease meaning out of, just the _yes_. But that should be everything he needs. Right?

“Something involving avocado.” He swallows hard, tries to figure his stomach out. “Pasta. Steak.”

There’s a soft snort of amusement. “Avocado, pasta, and steak. I’ll find a way to manage that, Jackson. Tell Lydia to text me if she needs anything else.”

Jackson shoves his phone into his pocket and carries his things downstairs, squirreling everything into the Porsche, shoving it into corners and trying not to ruin his clothes by putting them into too cramped spaces. It isn’t until he pulls up behind Lydia’s car in the huge parking area outside the house that it really sinks in that this is it, this is his home now.

The scary part isn’t that he’s here, it’s that he feels _right_ to be here.

The door opens and the pack comes out to greet him. Danny yanks open the passenger door and starts handing boxes out to waiting pack members. Stiles walks away with one box calling back that he is _still_ not moving in, while Scott and Isaac laugh, and Allison’s grin shows her dimples. Erica stands in the door and directs traffic, while Lydia sits in the porch swing that has been installed and lets it gently sway. She pats the bench next to her, and Jackson gives everyone a bemused look before trusting Danny with his Porsche and going to join her.

“You’re going to show soon,” she tells him, her own hand resting atop her belly. Jackson watches her, fascinated by the roundness, by the way her stomach has burgeoned outwards, and she smiles slightly and takes his hand, setting it next to hers. “We need to go shopping.”

“Care to explain how we’re going to get maternity clothes for _me_?” Jackson says dryly. “In case you haven’t noticed, most shops are for expectant moms.”

Lydia waves the problem away with a flick of her fingers. “Don’t worry about that; I have contacts in the supernatural world and while it might involve a bit of a trip, there is nothing to stop us from going shopping for proper couture while we are pregnant. Talk to Derek, get a card set up in your name, and we’ll go this weekend. There’s also a carpenter I want to see who specializes in hand crafted baby furniture designed with weres in mind. Has Deaton been able to tell how many you are carrying yet?”

“How many?” 

Lydia gives him a look and Jackson remembers her offhand comment that male omegas tend to produce multiple births, which could contribute to them being pregnant less often. While Deaton has assured Jackson that everything is going fine in the pregnancy, Jackson hasn’t even though to ask that question, particularly since even though his jeans are a little tight, he’s not actively starting to swell up like a balloon. He shakes his head, and Lydia curls her fingers together with his.

“This carpenter knows omegas, and she’s very good at creating suites of pieces with multiple births or pack nurseries in mind. That’s something we should discuss as well—do we want a pack nursery, or will we each have our own?” Lydia asks.

“I’m in for a pack nursery.” Erica perches on the railing and Jackson can just barely see the swell of her stomach beginning to show. “Everything I’ve read says that werewolf pups are better off raised in a group, which is why Boyd and I took a suite here. But Deaton says there’s just one pup in here,” she pats her stomach, “so it’s going to need its cousins close by to help it learn control.”

Jackson looks between them, shakes his head and pushes to his feet. “I’m not thinking about this yet,” he mutters, because he can’t. It’s too much too quickly, and even though he’s had three months to get used to the idea of what he’s doing, the truth is, nothing much has changed in his life.

He’s lived at home until now. He’s hung out with the pack, or often just with Danny and Lydia. He’s _seen_ Derek, but Derek hasn’t touched him.

Not once, not in three months. It’s as if now that Derek knotted him for his heat, and now that he has his pups growing inside of Jackson, Derek’s done.

And that hurts more than Jackson wants to think about.

He heads inside and realizes that he doesn’t know where to go and hesitates before choosing a direction. He hears voices from the same wing where Derek took him for his heat, so he slowly climbs the stairs, following the sound until he finds Danny and Stiles.

“Boyd’s down in the kitchen making something for Erica and Lydia to eat,” Danny tells him before he can ask. “And Scott dragged Isaac and Allison off to go figure out which rooms they’ll be moving into.” He smirks. “And probably test them out.”

“Oh God, dude, no.” Stiles sticks his fingers in his ears. “It’s bad enough that I have to hear about Scott’s sex life from _Scott_ , I do _not_ need my boyfriend reminding me what they’re doing as well. _La la lalalala_.”

Jackson snorts, exchanging a grin with Danny. It helps that his best friend knows him so well, and is willing to poke fun at his other half just to make Jackson smile.

“We got you set up in here.” Danny gestures at the clothes neatly hanging in the closet, the few boxes scattered around the room. Jackson inhales to confirm that yes, this is the exact same room that Jackson spent his heat in. _Derek’s_ room.

“No,” he says, voice flat. “And where’s all the rest of my shit? My books, my laptop. Everything I need to take classes and keep up with what I’m doing from home this year while I’m deferred.”

“The whole point of deferral is that you shouldn’t be _taking_ classes this year,” Danny reminds him, ignoring the dark glare that Jackson throws his way. “And your stuff’s in your office, down the hall. This room connects up to a nursery, and that connects to an office for you and Derek to share.”

“Share.” There must be something in Jackson’s tone that worries Danny because his brow furrows when he looks at him.

“Yeah, share. You said you were moving in, right?”

Moving into the house and moving in with Derek were two entirely different things. Jackson’s pretty sure he’s doing the first, not the second, even if the entire pack seems to be making an assumption. “You realize we’re not together,” he says quietly. “No matter what you think, no matter what you _assume_ , Derek and me just fuck when we feel like it, and I’m an available omega so I’m carrying his kids. There’s nothing more than that.”

It looks like Danny’s going to say something, then he huffs a sigh and pats Jackson on the back. “You look like death, which I’m betting means you spent the morning puking, so lie down and take a nap. And don’t even think about arguing—it’s an order from Lydia, I’m just the conduit.”

Jackson’s iffy on the idea, but the bed draws him forward until he can touch the pillow, fingertips trailing across the fabric. The sheets are soft and there’s a lingering warmth to them, as if Derek didn’t get up all that long ago, even though Jackson’s sure that’s not true. Still… he lifts the pillow and crushes it close to himself, inhaling the mixed scent that still somehow lingers after three months.

He closes his eyes and feels the tension slip away, loosening his bones.

He peels off his too-tight jeans and digs through the drawers to find a pair of Derek’s sweats. They’re bigger than Jackson wears, but the drawstring keeps them up. More importantly, they smell _good_ , wrapping Jackson in Derek’s scent, letting it mix with his skin as he lies down and tries to relax enough for sleep.

#

Jackson dreams that Derek slips into the room and watches him sleep. He dreams that Derek tugs his sweats down, tugs his cock free and wraps his lips around it, teasing him with his tongue until Jackson is hard and aching, his ass soaked with fluid. He dreams that Derek teases him almost to the edge of orgasm but doesn’t let him come, grinning wickedly every time he wraps his fingers around the base of Jackson’s cock and holds the orgasm at bay.

He wakes to the sound of Derek murmuring his name, lying behind him, hips pressed in close as Jackson ruts back against him. His cock is thick and aching, his body hungry for his alpha. He whispers _please_ , and Derek draws the sweats down just enough to expose his ass and cock, his legs still trapped together.

Derek pushes against him, cock sliding through the slick mess of Jackson’s legs and between his thighs, and Jackson cries out in frustration. It’s been _too long_ , and he just wants to be fucked. “Do it,” he orders, reaching back to grip Derek’s ass. “ _Please_.”

“Do what?” The words are whispered against Jackson’s ear, licked into the skin of his throat. “What do you want me to do.”

“ _Fuck me_ ,” he whines, clutching at his ass, trying to push back and impale himself, begging with his body. “I need you inside of me.”

Derek stills, his hand finding Jackson’s cock, stroking slowly. “I know,” he says quietly. “But do you _want_ me?”

Jackson feels the air go out of him like a punch to his gut. “Yes.” Because he can’t deny it. He pushes back again, wiggling his bottom so that he slicks Derek up, so that Derek only has to shift a little and he’s slipped inside of Jackson, pushing in deep and hard until Jackson cries out.

Derek holds onto his thigh, keeps his legs tight together while he thrusts into Jackson, and he can feel how brutally tight it makes him, squeezing Derek’s cock. He closes his eyes, whines until Derek thrusts harder. He drops his hand to his own dick, stripping it quickly, desperate to get off.

It only takes a few strokes for him to spill over the sheets, and a few strokes later Derek growls as his hips stutter, and Jackson feels the way he fills him up with the strength of his orgasm.

He closes his eyes and tries to breathe past tears that are building up, spilling over unexpectedly. He can’t stop them once they start, his body shaking from the effort of holding them away. Breath shudders through him like he can’t fill his lungs, and the sound that slips free is strangled and pained.

“Fuck.” Derek whispers the oath and quickly twists Jackson around, turning him toward Derek, face buried against his chest. Derek’s fingers comb through Jackson’s hair, his other hand slipped under his shirt and stroking his skin. “Hey. I’ve got you. What’s wrong?”

There’s nothing _wrong_ , not that Jackson can verbalize. He whines his frustration as the tears flow, shakes his head and buries himself closer to the scent of alpha and Derek. His ass is still hanging out of his sweats, skin cold and drying in the air and it just seems so… so… he can’t find the words for it in his head, but it frustrates him and he makes incoherent noises, one hand striking against Derek’s chest in irritation.

“Hey. _Jackson_.”

He doesn’t have to see the flash to know that it accompanied the _voice_ , and his tears stop, catching in his throat along with his breath. He pulls back, about to yell at Derek for alphaing him, but all he sees is concern drawing thick eyebrows together. Instead of yelling, Jackson reaches between them, draws his thumb along the line down Derek’s forehead, between his eyebrows, to the ridge of his nose.

“I’m okay,” Jackson says, and surprisingly, just like that, he _is_.

“Pregnancy hormones,” Derek mutters. “It’s going to keep happening whenever something affects you emotionally.”

“There is _nothing_ emotional about being fucked by you,” Jackson sneers, and Derek says nothing.

The silence stretches to the point of discomfort, and Jackson tries to fight his way clear, stopping when Derek wraps his arms around him and holds on. “Let me go, you asshole.”

“You need this,” Derek says drily. “No matter how much you fight any kind of an emotional connection, _you need this_ right now. So shut up, lie still, and stay close.” Jackson stops struggling, but he doesn’t relax, even when Derek lightly massages the nape of his neck. “It’d be better if it were skin to skin,” Derek says quietly.

“Fine. Let me strip.” It doesn’t take long for Jackson to yank off his t-shirt and shove off the sweatpants. Derek is already naked behind him, and the warmth tugs Jackson close to him, curling against him.

It _is_ better skin to skin, as if his wolf settles and curls up for a nap, leaving Jackson human and wanting. He sighs slightly when Derek’s fingers drift over the skin of his abdomen, as if searching for the child within.

“You’re going to grow soon,” Derek murmurs. “I’m surprised you haven’t already.”

“I keep puking.” Which he didn’t want to tell Derek, but he’s pretty sure there’s no way to hide it from him if he lives here. He feels the growl reverberate through him, and nudges him with his elbow. “It’s normal. It just means I’m only growing the baby, not getting fat on top of that. Plus Melissa said that rock hard abs are a terrible thing when it comes to pregnancy—the muscles have to loosen so my shape can change.” She’d also said that he’d probably show late, and it might hurt when he finally does start to become rounder. He’s not looking forward to that.

“I want to see you round,” Derek admits, whispering against Jackson’s skin. “I want to see you grow with my pups, and feel them move inside you. I want to know that you’re breeding _my_ pups in there, that you’re _mine_.”

It’s a quiet, possessive growl, and Jackson almost laughs at the way it sounds. “I’ll get fat soon enough,” he mutters. “Just let me be me for a little while longer, okay?”

Derek snorts. “You’ll always be you.” There’s more, but Jackson can’t feel the words, can only feel them press with the movement of Derek’s lips against his skin.

It doesn’t really matter because he’s relaxed again, finally, and all he really wants to do is stay right where he is.

#

Jackson settles in at the house faster than he expects.

It seems almost natural to be surrounded by the pack during the day, to stumble over someone unexpectedly, or to have random movie marathons without having to call anyone to join in other than Danny and Stiles. And a week after Scott moves in, Jackson finds Stiles standing in a room at one end of the wing Scott has claimed, staring at the walls like they could bite him.

“If you’re looking for Danny, he’s not here yet,” Stiles says quietly.

“I was looking for Allison.” Jackson holds up a small bag that Lydia asked him to give to Allison. He doesn’t know what it contains, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to know. “I heard someone in here so I decided to look. Something wrong between you and Danny?”

It’s not like he cares about Stilinski, of course, but he doesn’t want to see anything hurt Danny.

Stiles laughs softly, a flush staining his cheeks. Jackson swears he smells arousal just from Stiles _thinking_ about Danny, and that is way more than he needs to know.

Stiles shakes his head. “Everything’s fine. We’ve just been talking about him moving out of his parents’ house and me moving out of Dad’s place. And then there’s school, although Danny’s graduating early and he’s just got his final project to finish up, and trying to figure out where the hell to work around here. Because we can’t _go_ anywhere. I can’t leave when Scott’s trying to get Allison preggers because what kind of uncle would I be then? It’s not like I’m ever having kids. His kids _are_ my kids, so yeah. And here we are. Because where else would we be?”

Jackson isn’t sure if he followed all of that, but he’s pretty sure he got the gist. “Not to mention that Erica would have your balls in a sling if you walk out on her when she needs you around,” he says, keeping his tone offhand and watching the way Stiles flinches slightly. “This going to be your room then?”

“Yeah.” Stiles looks at the windows, then his gaze drifts to the door to the en suite bathroom. “It’s big, we’ve got a room next door that we can use for our computers, and Derek said he doesn’t care if I start putting up case notes on the wall in there, which will be better than tripping over the lines every time I get out of bed. Plus, Danny says it’s creepy to have murder suspects staring at him from the wall when we have sex, which I can understand. So, office for the computers and murder suspects, and here for bed and sex.” He rubs at his eyes. “Does this feel weird to you, Jackson?”

“I’m a wolf,” he replies, because in the end, that makes the difference. “And this is what pack does. We den together, and you’re part of our pack. But if it’s making you uncomfortable…” 

“It’s not, and that’s what’s so weird,” Stiles says quickly. “Danny’s gone to get the measurements of the furniture he’s going to ask his parents if he can take—his bed’s better. Actually, everything he has in his room is better. And I want to call him up and tell him to find a truck and bring it all over now. No waiting. Or let’s at least get the mattress and sleep here tonight, because it feels like we’re supposed to be here. And maybe that’s all your wolfly pheromones infecting my brain.” He waves one hand. “I mean, the whole fucking _house_ is nesting. Even _Peter_ is fucking _preening_ and nuzzling Jordan in the kitchen every time I see them there, which is both gross and hot and I don’t even want to think about it. But it’s like you guys are a wolf cult and you’re affecting my brain and I don’t want to go home again. And it doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re _pack_ ,” Jackson points out again, because it’s obvious that Stilinski doesn’t get it. “It makes sense.” And when he looks at it from outside his own brain—as odd as it is to hear Stiles saying the things that Jackson’s been thinking—it _does_ make sense. “This is what our alpha wants. He built this house for the pack, so of course the pack wants to move into it. Not everything about being a wolf is logical. The need to be close as a pack is just part of what we all are. And since you’re pack, it’s what you are, too.” He arches one eyebrow, smirks slightly. “There’s an air mattress somewhere that you could use tonight. But remember, wolves hear _everything_.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “And Scott, Isaac and Allison are loud fuckers who scream enough to be heard through solid walls,” he points out. “If they’re listening, they _deserve_ to get an earful.”

Jackson dimly hears Scott yell out, “I heard that, dude,” from somewhere in the house, but he doesn’t bother to relay it to Stiles. If they’re going to share a wing, he figures they’ll just have to get used to each other.

“Jackson?” Allison leans against the doorjamb, looking in. 

“This is when I leave.” Jackson hands Allison the bag on his way through the door. He has a feeling he knows what’s inside it, but he doesn’t want to _ask_ and he’s not the right person to hold her hand through using it if his guess is right. But the way she just stands there, the bag clutched in her hand, makes him hesitate and reconsider. He has to ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” She flashes her bright smile, dimples crinkling her cheeks. “I’m fine. I’m going to be fine. I just need to… do this. And talk to Scott. So yeah, everything’s good.” She turns on her heel and hurries down the hallway, a door slamming about halfway down as she disappears into the room.

“Should I be worried about that?” Stiles asks slowly.

“Maybe, but I don’t think she wants us to be,” Jackson replies. He shrugs one shoulder, nods at the door. “This is a pack house. No one’s business is going to be private anymore. On the other hand, Lydia has an entire pack of people to rub her feet when she demands it, which I know I’m glad about, and I bet Cora is too.”

Stiles snorts and the mood is broken. Jackson takes advantage of the moment to make his escape.

#

Jackson almost walks into Isaac coming out of the veterinary clinic while Jackson is walking in. They both stop and stare at each other, Jackson glaring faintly; he really doesn’t want company right now. “What are you doing here?”

Isaac flushes, a faint shade of red, and Jackson starts to growl because if they’ve been _fucking_ in the examination room… but he stops, inhaling, and his brows furrow together. Isaac takes a step back, gestures at the office. “I just. Had to see Deaton.”

It can’t be what Jackson immediately thinks it is. He’s starting to see babies under every bush, like the pack is growing them in a particularly fertile field, and he wonders if magic works like that, if the alpha’s need to grow his pack can affect the rest of his wolves as well. “Are you… too?” Because while Allison never confirmed it, Jackson’s damned sure she only needed that package from Lydia for one reason.

Isaac shrugs, nods.

Scott must be fucking chuffed about that. It tangles in Jackson’s brain, wondering if Allison’s baby is Scott’s or Isaac’s, but in the end, does it really matter? However the angles of their relationship work, it does _work_ for them, and he’s not going to ask stupid questions or interfere. Instead he simply claps Isaac on the shoulder, and says, “Welcome to my world. Don’t worry, the puking stops after a few months.”

Three months, one week, four days, to be exact, at least for Jackson. One day he was miserable, the next he wanted to eat everything in sight. He still feels like an empty pit most days, like there isn’t enough food to fuel his system, and he hasn’t gained much weight yet, despite how much he eats on a daily basis.

Isaac bares his teeth in a silent snarl, but Jackson just grins.

“Don’t tell anyone,” Isaac says. “I just got it confirmed, and I haven’t told Scott and Allison yet.” When Jackson’s gaze drifts toward the door to the back of the office, Isaac admits, “I waited to come in until it was a day that he’s not here. Deaton promised not to let him know, or put my name on the schedule. I wanted some time to process it on my own.”

Fuck it, Jackson’s getting sentimental. He blames the hormones and the baby, but now he has to know. “Is this a good thing?” Because he can’t be sure, not the way Allison looked and the way Isaac sounds now.

“Yeah.” The words comes out on a soft breath, the smile slow and burning brighter with every second. “It’s fucking awesome, Jackson. We’re going to be a family.”

“We’re already a _pack_ , asshole,” Jackson grumbles, but he knows what Isaac means.

And he tries not to think about that as Deaton comes out and brings him into the back room. As he gets changed, he very specifically doesn’t think about what it would be like to keep living at the house, in Derek’s room. What it might be like if he and Derek took care of the cub together, and if they made their own family within the pack.

Because it’s not like that.

The door pushes open while he’s halfway through pulling on the stupid hospital gown. Jackson jerks his head up, bares his teeth and flashes his eyes at the intruder, the light fading as soon as he sees who it is. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry I’m late.” Derek touches Jackson’s shoulder, turns him so he can tie the gown at the back. “Can’t figure out why Deaton bothers with these. If you wear sweats and a t-shirt, he can get to everything he needs.”

“Not exactly.”

It’s fucking eerie how silently Deaton moves, and it adds a whole extra level of cryptic to his persona. Jackson doesn’t want to think about what kind of examination has him bare-assed on the table with a second sheet over his lap, and Deaton’s bland smile doesn’t inspire confidence.

Deaton wheels over a cart with a monitor and keyboard, then slicks up the end of a flat-headed wand with goop. “Just lie back, Jackson. We want to take a look and see how many babies you’re carrying, and listen for heartbeats. Pregnancy in a male omega can be risky, particularly if there are multiple cubs, and we need be sure they all are healthy.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you do this sooner?” Jackson mutters, irritated that no one told _him_ that the cubs could be at risk. Derek grips his hand, fingers tangled and tight together, and Jackson squeezes back. These are _Derek’s_ children. Of course he’s upset that they might be in trouble.

“It wouldn’t have mattered, Jackson. Supernatural pregnancy has its own methods and its own timeline. You’ve just become stable, now, as you enter the second trimester, so now is when we see where we are.” Deaton slides the wand over his belly, pressing against his skin. “Ah, there we go.”

Jackson stares at the screen but he doesn’t see anything more than faint pale blobs in a dark blob, with maybe some other white blobs. “There we go _what_?” he prompts.

“Right there.” It’s as if Deaton thinks Jackson can tell exactly what’s on the screen. “I see three, and let me just do some measurements, but from first glance they all look to be the same size and growing at the same rate.”

“I want to hear their hearts.” Derek’s voice is a low growl, his eyes bleeding red.

Deaton blinks once, looking at him. “I’m sorry, you can’t hear them from where you are?”

If Jackson listens, there’s a soft thrum under his skin, but nothing distinct, nothing loud enough to separate out into heartbeats. He shakes his head as Derek growls again, louder still.

Deaton touches a button and sound fills the room. At first, it’s a cacophony of racing sound, not like any heartbeat that Jackson’s ever heard. He has to work to separate out the threads, three separate patterns, intertwining and tripping over each other.

And suddenly, it’s _real_. 

There are three pups inside of him, three small _things_ that will someday be tiny people to raise and grow within the pack and Jackson wants to be there for them. He wants to be _involved_ and he wants to impact these young lives. His breath catches in his throat, like there’s not enough air in the room, and he closes his eyes, trying not to think about the dampness he can feel in the corners of his eyes.

The sound cuts abruptly, and a moment later the door to the examination room opens and closes. Jackson opens his eyes, staring up to find Derek looking down at him, their fingers still entwined. Derek offers a quick, dry smile. “Deaton will be back shortly to finish the examination.”

The wand lies on the table, and the machine is no longer showing the little white blobs. Derek picks up a small wad of tissues and wipes the goop from Jackson’s belly, and Jackson aches with the urge to pull him close and ask for more than that. 

There’s a soft sound, and Jackson sees a shine on Derek’s face. He reaches up, rubs his thumb against the track over Derek’s cheek, wiping away the wet. “Upset?”

Derek shakes his head, licks at his lips and looks away. “Happy. Thank you, Jackson.”

_You’re welcome_ isn’t the right thing, but Jackson has no idea what to say to that. No idea how to react, no clue what the right thing to do _is_. He lets his hand fall to the nape of Derek’s neck, fingers curled lightly as Derek tilts his head, letting him stroke along vulnerable, sensitive lines. “You’re going to be a good dad, Derek,” Jackson says quietly. “They’ll be lucky to have you.”

Derek opens his mouth, hesitates and closes it again. He frames Jackson’s face with his hands, leans in to kiss his forehead first, then the bridge of his nose, then his mouth with a feather-light touch. “I’ll let you have privacy for the rest of your examination,” he whispers. “And make sure to check that you can still do _everything_ because I plan to fuck you into the mattress tonight.”

Jackson flushes, his entire body going swiftly hot and hard and slick as Derek pushes away and stalks out of the room. When Deaton returns, Jackson has one hand under the sheet, trying to will the erection away because it is _not_ what he wants at the moment. 

What he _wants_ is to go home. To feel like it _is_ a home, and share his bed with Derek, and yes, be fucked into the mattress. 

What he _wants_ is his family.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this posted so late in the day! I had to leave first thing this morning and have been running around all day until now. Thank you all for reading and commenting; y'all are awesome! The next chapter will post on Wednesday 4/1, and in the meantime, come visit me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	4. September

_September_

 

The trip to San Francisco to get clothes and check out the nursery furniture ends up being put off until almost a month after Jackson moves into the house. Between Erica’s nausea and Lydia’s aching feet, there never seems to be a right time, and by the time they are finally ready to go, Allison finds her way into the group as well. 

Lydia insists on renting an SUV, swatting at Jackson when he tries to take the wheel. “I am _pregnant_ , Jackson, not dying. I will drive until I can no longer fit behind the wheel of the car.”

He takes his place in the passenger seat, because while he might still do as Lydia requests, he is not taking a back seat on this trip. Allison and Erica don’t seem to mind, comparing notes on pregnancy in the back while Jackson fiddles with the radio in the front. He finally finds a station he can stand and lets it stay. Lydia purses her lips, throwing a look at him.

“Did you scare Isaac away?” Jackson asks quietly. “This seems to be a very estrogen oriented trip, aside from me.”

“I promised you clothes, and Isaac claims he needs nothing. I believe he intends to live in sweats and avoid going outdoors.” She shakes her head with an irritable noise. “Everyone handles pregnancy differently. Isaac seems determined to make his home indoors and not worry about anything else.”

“He’s also sick as a dog,” Allison snorts, grinning. “He can’t be in a car for more than five minutes at a time. Deaton actually had to come see _him_ because we couldn’t get him there. I’m surprised you haven’t been hearing the near-constant puking.”

Jackson shudders. “I try not to listen to anyone else in the house. God only knows what I might overhear.”

“I have never been so glad to have human ears,” Lydia muses. “And a human nose. I am also _very_ glad to be sharing a wing with Peter rather than you, Allison. I don’t know whether he keeps a gag for Parrish or if they are simply naturally quiet, but it’s _peaceful_ there. I’ve heard stories from Stiles.”

“Sometimes that’s us,” Erica volunteers. “Boyd’s a groaner. I’m a screamer.”

“This is all far more than I need to know,” Jackson says dryly. “For the rest of this trip, all discussions of our personal sex lives are off the table.”

“Is Boyd fascinated by your stomach?” Allison asks Erica. “I’m not even showing yet—neither is Isaac obviously—but Scott keeps touching us. Like he can’t seem to stay away.”

“Oh yeah.” Erica grins wickedly. “Especially when he’s behind me, and even more so when he’s—”

Jackson turns the music up, drowning them out.

“Thank you,” Lydia murmurs.

“Trust me, that was all purely self-defense.” Jackson leans back, idly watching the road go by. The only problem with heading down to San Francisco is that they’ll be in the car for a long time, which either means talking or thinking, and right now Jackson isn’t sure about doing either. He’d been more comfortable before Allison ended up in the car, but he couldn’t tell Lydia not to bring her, either.

“When are you telling Derek that you intend to go back to school?” Lydia asks. “Are you going to leave him?”

Jackson flinches. “Do we need to talk about this now?”

“If I try to talk about it any other time, you’ll run,” she says plainly. “This way you have a choice: we talk, or you jump out of a moving car on the highway, and while you will probably survive, I know you won’t risk your children. So… talk.”

Jackson is all too aware of the other girls in the back seat. Erica knows everything about him by now; he’s not sure he can even remember when they became close, but they _did_ , and she’s a big part of his life now. But he grew apart from Allison after that brief foray into attempted friendship in high school. She’s Lydia’s best friend, and part of the Scott, Isaac, and Allison triad. She’s part of the pack, but Jackson isn’t sure he’s comfortable talking about his innermost thoughts in front of her, either.

On the other hand, he knows Lydia won’t let up, and the four of them will be together and sharing a room all weekend.

He rolls his eyes in irritation at the situation. “I’m not leaving him,” he mutters. “But you need to stop trying to pretend that this is more than it is. Derek wants children, I’m an omega. We fuck occasionally, so it happened to work out. If I leave, it just means I’m going on with my life, not that I’m _leaving him_.”

“Now that we’ve got the semantics settled, what, exactly, do you intend to do about your education?” Lydia prods.

“Finish it.” As if there is any other choice. “My father says he’ll still pay as long as I go to law school, and he said he’ll make whatever deals I need to finish the next semester online. I’m going to take spring semester off, then finish out in the summer and fall.” It puts law school back in the equation, right when Jackson doesn’t want more school at all, but maybe it’ll help him move on when he has to.

“So, you’re leaving Derek.” Lydia’s voice is flat and a little cold, and Jackson can’t help but notice that the conversation in the back has gone silent as well.

“You don’t understand.” Jackson feels like they are all staring at him, judging, and he doesn’t want to explain. It’s _just sex_. That’s all it’s ever been, and he’s pretty damned sure it’s all Derek wants, aside from a few omega-bred kids. And the sex is _fantastic_ , as long as Jackson doesn’t think about how good it feels to fall asleep with Derek beside him, to be able to wrap himself around Derek in the middle of the night, and wake up with Derek’s hands bringing him back to life and orgasm as a great way to say _good morning_.

The thing is, never once has Derek asked him to _stay_.

The song shifts on the radio, and Erica shouts happily, “I love this song.” Jackson twists the knob to turn the volume up, and in the backseat Erica sings along, slightly out of tune, and the conversation is dropped. 

However, he can still see the stubborn set of Lydia’s jaw, and the way she refuses to look at him again for the rest of the drive. They may not be talking about it right now, but she’ll be back to bother him again. Someday he’ll have to find a way to make her understand.

#

Jackson’s in the middle of pulling a shirt over his head when the door to his changing room opens and closes. He inhales, tasting Allison’s scent, and yanks the shirt down to frown at her. “You could give privacy a chance,” he grumbles.

“There isn’t any in our room, and you avoid me in the house. Besides, there are wolf’s ears everywhere anyway, and do you honestly care if I see you naked?” Allison’s gaze slides over him from tip to toe and back again. “I have Scott and Isaac. It’s not like I want you.”

She looks at his belly, just barely peeking out from beneath the shirt that he has yet to smooth into place. He reflexively drops his hands, covers the stretching skin. “I’m getting fat.”

“So will I, and so will Isaac,” Allison says plainly. “It’s not a big deal, Jackson. Remember, we’re all going through it at once.”

He shrugs one shoulder because she may have a point, but he still doesn’t have to like it. He stares at the mirror while he tugs the shirt into place, then plays with the stretchiness of the fabric, using the provided pillow to see what the shirt would look like when he’s pushing it out with a much larger baby bump.

It looks weird. No matter how long he’s had to get used to this idea, he never really thought about this part of being an omega as a reality. As something that would impact his life like this. And yet, here he is. Pregnant.

He imagines the way Derek would come up behind him, slide his hands under the fabric and cover his belly possessively. And Jackson misses him in ways he hadn’t expected.

“I wanted to talk to you about Derek.” Allison sits on the little bench, the clothes pushed to one side so she can perch there, her legs crossed at the ankle, one booted foot swinging while she talks. “Do you know what he’s like when you’re at school?”

“We don’t exactly talk much.” Jackson remembers trying, during his freshman year. He’d text, and get a word or two in response, or he’d call and Derek would hang up after a few minutes. He tried Skype—hell, he even tried Skype sex just because he was so fucking bored—but none of it worked for more than a few minutes before Derek would disappear.

“He’s quieter,” Allison says. “Scott says he stops talking, barely manages to get six words in a row out. Cora says he’s unbelievably taciturn. The Sheriff outright worries about him, whether he’s sleeping or eating enough, but Derek just goes on. Then he starts to come to life right before break, and when the rest of the pack is home, he’s fine. Then a few days before we all leave, he turns back into silent Derek. We’ve all seen it happen. Right?”

“It’s just Derek.”

“It’s just Derek without _you_.”

Jackson turns to her, hands on his jeans. He unbuttons them, holding her gaze while he drops them and kicks them away, reaching for the pair with the hidden panel in them to expand as his belly does. “It’s Derek without a _pack_ ,” he says. “Allison, he makes me leave. I thought about staying once, but he told me to go back and finish my education. That he didn’t want me here or need me here, and I’m not going to delude myself into thinking anything’s changed. If you want me to be blunt, fine. The sex is fucking fantastic, and yes, we’re having kids, but there isn’t anything there. He just wants to fuck his pretty little omega, and he wants to have a family. I happen to be collateral damage to his plans.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.” Allison pulls out her phone, fiddles with something, tapping a message and pressing send before she puts it away. “This is Derek. It’s not like he’s actually good at saying what he means, and you know what kind of horrible things happened to him. And the thing is, he keeps making you go away, and you keep coming back.”

“You think it’s a test?” Jackson gets the jeans in place, not sure what he thinks of the look, but with the shirt over them, you can’t really tell that there’s anything going on other than a beer pudge. Maybe he could pass it off as drinking too much if he runs into anyone, at least for another month or two. “I think you’re imagining things.”

He starts to push the jeans down, then yanks them back up. He pulls on his own henley—he doesn’t need the expandable one quite yet—and starts sorting the clothes into _keep_ and _put back_ piles.

“I’m pack, Allison, and I will stay living in the house, and maybe I’ll just take my own room next time I come back,” Jackson says. “But I’ll always come back. That’s part of it, right? No matter what’s going on between us, these kids will always be mine, and I’ll always come back.”

The door pushes open and Lydia looks from Jackson to the pile of clothes. “Are you done already? Not acceptable.” She snaps her fingers, slides in next to Allison on the bench. “Go on, strip. Fashion show.”

It’s easy to lose himself in this. He’s been friends with Lydia so long that it’s natural to shop with her, and when Erica joins them, the three girls have absolutely no issues with telling him which clothes look best. They take turns with their hauls, going over their plans and at least for the moment, Jackson can actually enjoy being pregnant.

#

Jackson’s in the kitchen with a laptop on one countertop open to an assignment in one of those online classes he’s not supposed to be taking while his regular school is deferred, and a pan simmering on the stove with ingredients spread over the other counter for a mid-afternoon snack. He hears the doorbell ring in the distance, but given that he has a timed quiz and a pot that needs nearly constant stirring, he ignores it. Whoever it is will either ring again, find another pack member, or leave a note and come back later.

“Hey.”

His nose flares and he tries to remember the name that goes with a scent that is more familiar than the face. Jackson frowns at the newcomer. “Parrish?” he tries, because the only person he can think it _could_ be is Peter’s mysterious boyfriend.

“Jordan, yes. We’ve met before.” 

The voice is even more familiar than the face, and Jackson _does_ remember high school. “I know.” He smirks. “Danny had a crush on you back then. If you remind him about it in front of Stilinski, Stiles will turn purple with jealousy.” Not that Jackson’s done that more than two or three times. This month.

Parrish has a rueful smile. “I’ve noticed. Peter enjoys needling Stiles as well. Not the point right now, though. There’s someone at the door with a delivery truck full of furniture, and I’m pretty much only familiar with Peter’s room, and I’m sure that’s not where it’s going.”

There are so many things that Jackson could say to that, but in the end, he lets them all stay silent in the face of the fact that the _furniture_ is here. “Stir this.” He hands Parrish the spoon and leaves him with the pot as he heads out to the entry way. Most of the pack is either at school or work by this point, leaving Jackson alone in the house.

When he opens the door, he can see the truck standing open in the driveway. There is a hint of cherry wood peeking around some of the other pieces, and he knows that is the bassinet he chose. He inhales, lets it out roughly, because if this is here, then it’s a bit more real.

There will be babies to fill that furniture.

“This place is huge.” The delivery guy whistles low. “I see why we had to bring three people to do that job. Is it all going to one place?”

Jackson shakes his head. “It should all be coded. We’ve got bassinets going into four bedrooms, and there are two nurseries for the rest of the furniture. I’ll take your crew on a walk through first, then you can bring it in.”

By the time everything is in and Derek gets home, Jackson is in the room attached to theirs that they’ve designated as a nursery, sitting in the rocking chair with his feet up, letting it move gently. He recognizes Derek’s steps in the hall, but keeps his eyes closed, lets himself sway with the gentle motion.

He could watch Derek take in the sight, but Jackson isn’t sure he wants to see it. Jackson picked these pieces because _he_ loved them, because he wanted to give them to his children. The light hawthorne of the primary pieces, with embedded cherry and mahogany to create primal patterns, etched into the wood. He’s already shown Danny pictures and Danny and Stiles have been working with a friend to create a mural they plan to put on the walls sometime in the next few months.

Everything’s coming together and it’s a little scary how right it feels.

A heavy hand falls on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Jackson swallows, opens his eyes to look up, see Derek staring down at him. “I’ve been spending your money, which goes against my plans for the summer. I should have made my father pay.”

“You’re pack.” Derek crouches next to the rocking chair, his hand curved over Jackson’s knee, light stroking as the chair moves. “I can provide for you.”

That sounds dangerously close to _I can provide for my mate_ and something warm curls in Jackson’s gut. He doesn’t want to question it, wants to pretend that that is _exactly_ what Derek said, so he reaches up, curls his fingers around the nape of Derek’s neck, and tugs him closer. He isn’t gentle, pulling Derek in with a hint of claws, nipping at his lip. He doesn’t want gentle in return.

Derek growls. “So that’s what you want?” He slides an arm under Jackson, scoops him up bridal style out of the chair. Derek buries his mouth at Jackson’s throat, nipping at the skin until Jackson’s head falls back, baring his throat submissively. “Fuck,” Derek whispers, as he takes him into their room and lays him out on the bed.

“Yes,” Jackson tells him, yanking him close, twisting until Derek lies under him on the bed, Jackson straddling his hips. He grinds down, gratified when Derek’s hips rise and he feels the hard length of his cock, still trapped in his jeans. “We are wearing too many fucking clothes.”

Derek’s grin bares teeth, and he flips Jackson back onto the bed, face down, grabbing a pile of pillows to tuck under his chest so he isn’t smothered by blankets. Derek yanks the shirt over his head, then pulls his jeans down, baring his ass quickly. Before Jackson can react, Derek nuzzles in close, nipping at the tender skin, licking across Jackson’s wet hole, and Jackson cries out. 

“Oh fuck, that’s good.” Jackson twists his fingers in the blankets, holds on as he arches his body, pushing back against Derek’s tongue. He wants more, wants to fight for this, wants to be held down and fucked hard. He bucks beneath his touch, and Derek answers by pushing his tongue into him, opening him up with long licks that barely begin to satisfy. Jackson whines, and Derek huffs a low laugh and keeps going.

“You started this,” Derek murmurs, kissing the words into his skin. “I’m going to fucking well finish it the way I want to.” He pushes two fingers in, twists them to seek out Jackson’s prostate, stroking it until he bucks again. His cock is already hard and aching, dripping even without being touched, and he just wants to jack himself off now. He reaches back, but Derek takes his hand, puts it firmly above his head and presses it against the mattress.

“Hold on,” Derek orders. He twists his fingers, alternately fucking into Jackson and stroking his prostate, pushing at him until Jackson twists under him, begging for more. It’s almost as bad as being in heat, this feeling of _need_ and _want_ , desperate to be filled with Derek’s cock. He whines again, begging as his fingertips grow claws and he digs in to the bed. Derek presses against his prostate, the pressure unrelenting, and Jackson twitches, feels his dick drip, and when Derek whispers _come_ , Jackson does, in thick heavy spurts all over the sheets.

It does nothing to make his hunger fade, just leaves him gasping and still hard, aching and wide open, waiting for Derek. “Fuck me,” Jackson whispers, and Derek moves into position behind him, sliding in with one stroke.

“Oh fuck.” Jackson closes his eyes, lets Derek ride him, pushing at him to make it harder, faster. But Derek seems determined to draw it out, make it slow, touch everywhere inside of him until Jackson’s body is on fire. He cries out, breathing rough and ragged, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. He scrabbles at the sheets, shredding what he can reach until Derek puts his hands over his, tangles their fingers together and holds him down.

It calms the wolf inside of him, makes him arch his neck, begging until Derek latches on and digs in, teeth holding him tight.

And finally, _finally_ Derek begins to move in earnest, fucking him hard enough that the bed moves, shaking and slamming into the wall with every stroke. Jackson shivers with each thrust, legs trembling as Derek takes him, and he’s whispering, begging, pleading for Derek to fuck him so hard, to come inside of him, fill him up all over again. He begs for babies, for breeding, for Derek to take his next heat and knot him all over again. He wants to be filled just like that, and when Derek manages to work a finger in next to his dick, stretching Jackson even more, Jackson comes with a shout.

He feels Derek jerk behind him, filling him with warmth before they both collapse to the side, Derek’s arms wrapped around him.

“I wish you could knot me all the time.”

Derek snorts, and Jackson flushes at the admission. It’s the first time they’ve brought it up, and the first time Jackson’s really thought about his next heat. He’s not sure when it will happen—pregnancy may change his cycle completely—and he’s not sure what he’ll do.

Derek nuzzles the back of his neck, kissing at the sore spot where his teeth were clamped down before. “We’ll buy you a dildo,” Derek murmurs, his hand gliding over Jackson’s abdomen, pausing as he feels the curves, traces them with his fingers. “If you like it that much.”

“I’d rather have you.” Jackson blames the post-sex haze on the words coming out of his mouth, and he closes his eyes before Derek huffs, a low noise with no words before he kisses Jackson’s shoulder. 

“I’m okay with that.”

Breath catches in Jackson’s throat. He has no words to answer, not now, so he grabs Derek’s hand, brings it up and kisses his fingertips, catching their mixed scent and inhaling it deeply at the same time.

He’s so fucked. So very well fucked, both physically and emotionally, because he lied to Lydia. He can’t walk away from this, and he can’t walk away from Derek or their children.

Not when he’s stupid enough to fall in love.

#

When he wakes up from his nap, Derek is gone but the room still smells like them. Jackson feels loose and warm, too comfortable to feel like moving. He rolls over onto his back, idly strokes his morning wood as he inhales and exhales slowly, drinking in the scent.

It only takes him a few strokes to get off, and he drifts for several minutes after that, loathe to get out of the bed.

He pads naked into the shower, rinsing off the stickiness and turning himself back into something vaguely resembling human. He loves the way his ass feels stretched, aching a bit and almost like he’s hungry to do it all over again. Maybe Derek wouldn’t mind skipping dinner and Jackson can convince him to come back to bed.

When he walks back into the room, he’s still naked, and there are clean clothes tossed across the end of the bed. Jackson picks them up, pulling on a pair of Derek’s sweats even though he has perfectly good jeans of his own that fit now. Derek’s obviously been back and left again, which means dinner is on and more sex is out. Jackson starts to head out, then pauses by the cherry wood bassinet.

It was specially designed with triplets in mind, three small cradles together, just at the right height to sleep next to the bed. There’s a thin mattress in each one, but no bedding yet.

However in each cradle sits a small stuffed animal. All wolves, but each one slightly different coloration, as if they were made completely by hand. They are infant safe, soft and cuddly with no choking hazards, and when Jackson picks one up, he smells Derek on the fur.

He rubs his own face against each one, scenting it before setting it down.

Tears prick his eyes because he knows Derek left these for their children, and it tugs at his heart in uncomfortable ways. Jackson touches his stomach, feels the rounding, presses in lightly against the bulge. “In case he forgets to tell you—because he sucks with words—your daddy loves you very much. You’re not even here yet, and he’s trying to spoil you rotten.”

It feels as if his gut lurches in response, a twisting sensation deep inside of him, and the odd sense that his stomach is being nudged out of place.

They’re moving.

He can _feel_ them moving.

He tries to feel it with his fingers against his skin, wanting to share it, but this is his right now and his alone. Those are his babies, and they responded to his voice.

This is real.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! We are at the halfway point!!
> 
> The next chapter will post on Sunday, April 5th, and I will do my best to do so before I go out to do family things for Easter. In the meantime, thank you so much for reading, and for commenting, and you guys are all awesome. If you want, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)! See you Sunday!


	5. November

_November_

 

In the past two months, Jackson has gone from vaguely round to ungainly and fat, his muscles soft and stretched over his solid belly. When he sits next to Lydia on the couch, he’s not sure which of them is bigger, which is impressive since her due date passed three days ago. He is uncomfortable, hot despite the cool late fall weather, and wondering how the hell he’s going to get through another three months before these babies come out.

“Don’t whine,” Lydia says mildly. She has a laptop perched on her belly, a small blanket between it and her skin to protect her from the heat. Her fingers move across the keyboard easily, despite the swollen knuckles, and she sighs as she tries to finish her assignment before the semester ends.

“I’m not whining.” He does his best to keep his voice even, and she simply raises one eyebrow, looking at him.

“You’re thinking it. I know you far too well, Jackson Whittemore, and if three of your last four thoughts haven’t been about how _uncomfortable_ you are, then I’m losing my touch,” she says. Lydia shakes her head, considers the words on the screen then continues typing. “I am about to pop, and while I understand that you are both _male_ and carrying triplets, this is the one time when I am allowed to believe that I am in worse shape than you are.”

“Do you really hate being pregnant that much?” Erica has her shirt drawn up while she rubs cocoa butter over her belly. Partial nudity has become so much the norm in the house that even the human members of the pack no longer blink, although Stiles still turns beet red on occasion.

It’s a complicated question, and Jackson glances around, tilts his head to listen to the rest of the house, tries to figure out where everyone else is before he answers. Privacy is as unusual as nudity is accepted; it makes it difficult to find time to talk about the things inside his own head. Out of everyone else in the house, only Danny is as close to Jackson as these two women are, and he’s not always comfortable airing his thoughts in front of everyone else.

Erica caps the tin of salve and passes tosses it to Jackson. “You’re not answering,” she points out as he catches it, twists it open, and starts to apply it to his own skin.

“I hope this shit fucking works the way you claim,” he mutters because there are _stretch marks_ all over his skin. His perfect abs are long gone, distended to a ridiculous size. “And no, I don’t hate being pregnant.” He tries to martial his thoughts because there are moments when being pregnant feels _perfect_ and _right_ , although those times are usually when he’s with Derek. He doesn’t mind the hormones or increased sexuality, and he definitely doesn’t mind the way Derek dotes on him. He’s gotten used to the three babies jockeying for space, pushing at his insides and poking feet and hands hard enough against his stomach that he can see them move. But he hates being huge, hates feeling out of control.

And he hates not knowing what comes next.

He covers the cocoa butter, hands it to Lydia without looking. “Do you think everyone’s going back to their old lives after this?”

Erica spreads her hands. “This _is_ my life. Boyd and I already live in Beacon Hills and nothing’s changing. I’ll get my teaching certificate, I’ll put in my hours in at one of the elementary schools around here, and I’m betting you guys will use me like the honorary pack daycare. If there were money in it, I’d do that, but that would pretty much make it so I have no income.”

“It’s not like we _need_ you to have an income,” Lydia says gently. “And homeschooling is often the best choice for young born werewolves. Or whatever we might have; I’m fairly certain that whatever Parrish is carrying could be a time bomb given the mix of species and the lack of information we have about Parrish’s family. Erica, if you _want_ to provide care for the pack’s children, no one is going to say you can’t. I think we’d all appreciate knowing they are in safe hands. After all, it takes a village.”

“Or a pack.” Jackson knows it’s what she meant, even as she lightly taps his thigh for being obvious.

Erica smiles, leaning back in her chair, feet up on the coffee table. “Aren’t we all supposed to provide, or some shit like that?”

“Taking care of my kids while I’m at school _is_ providing,” Jackson says dryly. “I’m going to trust you more than some daycare.”

“Are you even going to be here?”

Jackson winces at the tone in Erica’s voice, tries to breathe through the instant of panic that comes from the words. “I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

“You haven’t talked to Derek about it.” Lydia spreads her hands, rolling her eyes when he pins her with a _look_. “What? He talks to Cora, she talks to me, and unlike _some_ people, I actually _listen_.”

He glares at her, then at Erica as well when she snorts in response. “This has nothing to do with Derek,” Jackson says, trying to keep his voice even. “I just haven’t decided what I’m doing about the rest of my degree. Or law school. There are children to keep in mind.”

“Which you were planning on leaving,” Erica says.

“I can’t.” Jackson nudges at his belly, watches the trail of movement shown through the taut stretch of his shirt over skin. “You’re doing this too, you know what it feels like. Could you leave them behind?”

“Even before this, I wouldn’t leave Cora,” Lydia tells him. “Doesn’t it go deeper than that?”

It does. It goes so much deeper in his heart than the children, but Jackson can’t say it out loud, not knowing that Derek doesn’t return the same thing. He purses his lips, shakes his head. “No, it’s not like that with…” His voice trails off as he touches the couch between them and makes a face at the sudden dampness. “Lydia, what…”

Her eyes are wide and bright, her hand over her stomach. “Jackson, Erica, howl please. I think it’s time for the hospital. My water just broke.”

It’s chaos after that, organizing rides and cars and luggage as the entire pack tries to trail after Lydia and Cora and into the hospital. Jackson glances at Isaac as they are packing into vehicles, and he can clearly read the trepidation in the other man’s expression. Lydia’s the first, yes, but it’s a domino effect after this. One by one, they will each fall. These babies are almost ready to come out.

#

Thanks to the efforts of Melissa and the Sheriff, the pack has a private space to wait away from prying eyes while Lydia and Cora are in the birthing room. It’s a relief that Jackson can pace without worrying who might notice the size he’s become, or who might realize that he’s a pregnant _man_ out in public. Isaac is still far smaller than him and can get away with wearing a heavy coat outside to hide his thickening middle. There is nothing Jackson can do to disguise his bulge.

And there is nothing that will keep him from being here for Lydia.

Labor, however, is a long process, and he wonders if he’s wearing a path in the floor after hours pass. Some of the pack drift away—Stiles and Danny find a space to sleep in the chairs, and Scott herds Allison and Isaac out the door for sleep at home. Peter very wisely stays away, and the Sheriff and Parrish are on duty, while Melissa is in with Lydia for the birth. It leaves Jackson pacing, while Boyd idly rubs Erica’s belly as she naps.

“Jackson.” Hands catch at him, pull him in close before Derek’s nose pushes against his throat, tongue licking his scent onto Jackson’s skin.

His body reacts immediately, wet and hard, his head dropping to one side. “Not the place,” he murmurs, even as Derek’s hands slide under Jackson’s shirt, caressing his belly.

“The first baby of the pack,” Derek says quietly. “We’re growing.”

“What about Maggie?” Jackson can’t resist being a little shit, poking holes in everything he says, and Derek snuffles, kissing his throat and nipping at him until Jackson sighs. “Fuck, Derek. Does the idea of our pack getting bigger make you horny?”

Derek draws back, and when Jackson turns, Derek is flushed. Jackson smirks. “It _does_. It’s not just me being pregnant, it’s your _pack_ being pregnant. They’re not all _your_ kids, you know.”

“Only these three are _mine_.” Derek wraps his arms around Jackson again, pulls him in, rubs his hands firmly over his belly. “Only _you_ are mine.”

Those words, and the deep growl in his voice… it’s all Jackson needs to be a quivering mess. Fuck being _proper_. He just wants to be properly fucked. “There has to be a closet around here somewhere.” He starts moving, tugging Derek with him, calling back that they’re going to get some sleep and Erica laughs in the background.

He shoves Derek into an examination room, closes the door and puts a plastic chair under the handle so it won’t open unexpectedly. He yanks the curtains closed around the bed and pushes Derek back onto it.

He knows this isn’t the right time, or place, but it’s what he wants and needs, and he’s going to take it. As long as Derek’s willing to give it to him, he’s going to take it.

Derek strips quickly, then helps Jackson when he’s struggling to get the clothes off of his ungainly body. Derek leans forward from his seat on the bed, cradling Jackson’s belly, kissing the taut, flushed skin. “You are so fucking gorgeous like this,” Derek whispers, nuzzling him. “Big and round, filled with my cubs. Want to keep you like this, fuck my seed into you in every heat. Keep you in my bed.”

There’s a low buzz in Jackson’s ears, a heat building that’s at odds with the vaguely panicked rush of his heart. He’s trying to reconcile words with knowledge, and can’t figure out if it’s just his belly doing this to Derek, some rush of pheromones perhaps, or if this is some weird deep-seated longing to keep Jackson barefoot and in the kitchen. And if it is, does it ignore Jackson as a person entirely?

He shoves at Derek, pushing him to lie down on the bed, climbing up and straddling him. He needs to shut him up, stop the confusing stream of words from coming out, and Jackson knows the best way to do it. “Suck me.” He means it as an order, but it comes out pleading; Derek obliges, gripping Jackson’s ass and pulling him to shuffle closer to his mouth until Derek can lean up and catch the tip of his dick.

Jackson can’t fuck his mouth in this position, not with his belly in the way. But he can kneel over Derek and shift his hips, hands gripping at the mattress as he tries to control this. Derek pulls his ass cheeks, pushes two fingers into Jackson’s wet ass, fucking him slowly as he swallows his cock.

It’s fucking brilliant, and Jackson stutters as he speaks, stumbling over words that beg for more mixed with Derek’s name. He hears the whispered order of _come for me_ and he does, spilling down Derek’s throat, which doesn’t change at all how wet he is and how hungry he is for more.

“Good boy.” Derek shifts under him, hitches his own hips up until he can push Jackson back against his cock. A small change in angle, and Jackson takes him in easily, groaning at the sensation of being filled by his alpha.

“Perfect,” Jackson whispers. “You feel so fucking good in my ass. Don’t stop. Fuck me hard. Fill me up. _Fuck_ , Derek.” He clings to his shoulders, leans in for a kiss and tastes himself in Derek’s mouth.

“Can you come again for me?” Derek’s voice is hoarse, his entire body taut as he shoves into Jackson, almost on the edge of too hard but at the same time, not nearly hard enough. “Can you do that for me, baby, can you come from my cock inside of you?” He shifts, his cock dragging against Jackson’s prostate, and he’s so fucking sensitive that it’s almost enough. “Come on, Jackson,” Derek begs. “Come for me. _Come for me_.”

Jackson pushes back, grinds down against Derek, rotates his hips just to the right place, and he feels the white light behind his eyes before he comes with a body twisting fury, crying out with a near howl as his body clenches. He feels the wet warmth of Derek filling him up, over and over, almost as good as being knotted.

With a slow shudder, Jackson curls against Derek, and they lie down together, tangled close on the thin bed.

“We have made a huge fucking mess,” Jackson mutters. He thinks Derek answers, but he doesn’t hear the words, doesn’t notice anything because he’s so exhausted that he can barely keep his eyes open. He blinks twice, tries to focus, but sleep pulls him away.

#

“You slept through me giving birth,” Lydia says dryly. “You actually had _sex_ in the hospital, then you slept through me giving birth.”

If Jackson could be, he’d still be asleep. Boyd had sniffed them out and woken Derek up after they’d slept for several hours, and Lydia had given birth. They’d managed a quick shower in the attached bathroom before dressing and heading back to Lydia’s room. The entire pack was there at the start, but eventually they drifted off and Derek convinced Cora it was safe to leave for dinner, leaving Jackson alone with Lydia.

And he is absolutely exhausted. “M’tired,” he mutters, curling around his belly as he sits in the uncomfortable chair next to her bed. He pillows his head on his curled arm next to her, reaching out with his other hand. He can’t stop petting the small infant that lies curled against Lydia’s breast, softly suckling in her sleep. He drags his fingers lightly through the bright shock of strawberry blond curls on the girl’s head, then touches Lydia’s arm, fingers idly bleeding away some of her pain.

She sighs. “You may be tired, but you are still being wonderful to me, Jackson.”

“You made this,” Jackson murmurs. He watches the little girl sleep, her chest rising and falling. She’s naked except for her diaper, skin to skin contact being imperative for a newly born werewolf. She snuffles in her sleep, and Jackson can see the way her fingernails turn to claws and back. He should probably go get the little booties they have for her hands and feet, but she doesn’t seem to be able to do damage to herself or Lydia right now so he lets it be.

“She’s not a _this_ ,” Lydia corrects him. “Her name is Natalie Martine Hale.”

Stiles has already declared that she’s named after the Black Widow, and the rest of the pack studiously ignored him. Still, Jackson has to agree. “Nat,” he whispers, and the little girl makes a small huff of a noise. “She’s learning already.”

“She’s brilliant like her mother, and fierce like her other mother,” Lydia says. “What else do you expect?”

“She’s going to rule the house until she’s a teenager, and the world after that,” he murmurs. A yawn catches him unaware, and he feels as if the world is weighing down on him, dragging him into the abyss. He strokes his hand down Lydia’s arm, ends with his finger near Nat’s tiny hand and she wraps it around him, holding on tight. He feels Lydia’s fingers cradling his skull as he lets the abyss bear him away.

#

The baby changes the dynamics of the house.

The werewolves are tuned to Nat’s cries; no matter where they are in the house, they hear her. It’s easier for Jackson to tell the different sounds apart than it is for Lydia, but it doesn’t help the fact that hearing her cry sets up a response in him, one that tugs at his instincts and he has to wake up and go to her.

It isn’t unusual for Nat to wake hungry in the middle of the night, and Lydia finds herself surrounded by werewolves all watching her nurse.

Jackson loves it, but at the same time, it exhausts him past the point of belief. He is thankful that he’s passed in his last final, that he has a break until after Christmas. He sends off the letters stating that he is officially on medical leave for the spring and puts school out of his mind. It can wait until he can think, until he can stay awake longer than a few hours at a time.

When he wakes one morning and stumbles into the kitchen, he finds Isaac and Allison there, sitting at the table, while Peter and Parrish linger near the counter, sipping on coffee. Jackson blinks as they seem to all fade in and out of focus, hints of concern wafting on the air. He tilts his head, frowns slightly because _right_ , Parrish is pregnant and is that a ring on his finger? “When did you get married?”

Parrish links his hand with Peter’s, lifts them both so he can kiss Peter’s fingertips. The movement makes the gold on their fingers flash. “Three weeks ago, at Disney. I thought you knew?”

Jackson stares at them both, seeing mouse ears superimposed atop their heads, and he tries to imagine Peter in a t-shirt and flip-flops, surrounded by tourists. The ridiculous image of Parrish as Minnie Mouse, with bright red shoes and a wedding veil, is almost too surreal to be borne, and he laughs under his breath.

“Are you okay, Jackson?” Allison asks worriedly, and he nods quickly to assure her that he’s fine. This is normal.

“Don’t worry, Isaac, the room’s only spinning a little.” Jackson reaches out, grabs onto the back of a chair. If he sits it will be better, he thinks, or at least he’ll be closer to the ground. He just woke up not long ago; it shouldn’t be this bad already, and yet it is. The triplets squirm in his gut, kicking at his bladder, and his head feels like it is filled with angelfish. “Except for the time when it spins a lot.”

“Jackson?”

There’s a rush of movement all around him, and Jackson is amazed at how long it takes for him to reach the ground, borne on the arms of his pack mates. “I’m getting really tired of passing out,” he says, or he thinks it and forgets the words, because it’s too late, the abyss is back and swallowing him whole.

#

He wakes to Derek’s scent wrapped around him, and pack close by. He is overly warm, sheets tucked in tight by a leg thrown over his own from the back, and a body pressed against his from the front. He inhales again, tasting Derek on the sheets, but when he blinks into the light, his alpha isn’t in the room.

“Derek?” He asks the question into the air, not positive exactly who is with him until he manages to wedge himself up to sitting and sees Stiles and Danny surrounding him, their heat keeping him warm.

Stiles stops playing idly with Danny’s fingers. “Oh, hey, dude. You scared the shit out of Derek.”

“Where is he?”

“Lie down.” Danny’s tone is firm, and they both drag him back down. “You’re not going anywhere until we can figure out how to get you out of bed without you passing out. Deaton’s put you on bed rest.”

Jackson opens his mouth, snaps it shut when he realizes he has no idea what to say.

“We are your designated pack snuggles for the next few hours, dude, so just relax and enjoy.” Stiles pats his chest. “Because we all know you wanted up in this when we were in high school, and this is the only chance you’re going to get.”

“Stop antagonizing him, Stiles.”

Stiles sticks his tongue out. “Time honored tradition, Danny. Jackson would be more worried if I were nice to him.”

“What happened?” Because there are pieces of his memory missing. Jackson swears he remembers Derek, and he can’t understand why he wouldn’t be here _now_. “And where’s Derek?”

“Cleaning up some things but he’ll be back soon. You’ve been passing out repeatedly, and Deaton’s not sure why. It’s not a usual side effect.” Danny’s expression is serious, and Jackson feels his heart sink. “You seem to be fine as long as you’re not exerting yourself, and you’re with pack,” he tells Jackson. “So we’ll figure it out. If all else fails, you’re stuck in bed until the babies are born.”

There’s a solid ten weeks until then, if Jackson carries them to term, and he’s wondering if he’ll be able to do that. If there will be problems if they’re early, and what counts as premature for a werewolf infant? He sucks in air, tries to get more on another breath, then closes his eyes.

“Dude, you’ve already survived being a ravenous lizard beast and dying, I think you’ll make it through this.” Stiles is matter-of-fact, thumping his shoulder to get his attention. “Deaton’s not sure if this might have something to do with your brief stint in kanima-land, and it’s got him worried for Parrish, since we don’t know what he is. But as far as we can tell, you started getting tired a while ago, and Isaac’s not having any symptoms like this, so we’re pretty sure it’s specific to you at the moment.”

“We’re not talking about the kanima.” It’s a topic Jackson doesn’t discuss with anyone. Not with Lydia, who brought him back, not with Danny, who’s been his best friend since they were toddlers. Not even with Derek, who Jackson is damned sure has been his anchor since he was nineteen years old and he needed something to keep him stable. And if he won’t talk to them about it, Stiles is definitely _not_ an option.

“We don’t need to talk about anything,” Danny assures him quietly. “But if you want to get out of this bed for any reason other than peeing during the next few months, we’re going to need to dig into the reasons behind this.”

 _Not getting out of this bed_. It hits Jackson then that he still has almost three months to go, and he can’t let anything happen, not now. Not to him, not to the babies. He puts his hand on his stomach, presses in and feels a small foot or hand pushing back at him. 

“Maybe you just need to learn to open up and let someone in,” Stiles suggests, rocking backwards when Danny punches his shoulder lightly. “What? This is Jackson, the dude who pretends he needs no one and then turns into a monster that’s desperate to be needed. I think we are long past denying Jackson’s need for people around him, even if _he_ still denies it.”

“I’m living in the pack house,” Jackson grumbles. “I’m pretty sure that counts as admitting I want my pack around me.”

“But you’re not letting us _in_.” Stiles flicks his fingers against Jackson’s temple. “Just calling it like I see it, dude. Surrounding yourself with people and still keeping your trauma locked inside is _not_ leaning on your pack. It’s pretending to do it. I’m not saying it’s the key to keeping you and your cubs stable, but it’s a possibility. So figure it out in your head and deal with it. You’re not a lone wolf, Jackson, and you shouldn’t be.”

Jackson looks to Danny like he’s going to get some kind of back up, but the traitor’s nodding in time with Stiles’s words. “I’m not dating an idiot,” Danny points out. “We all stuck around here for a reason. Some of us just are having a hard time admitting it.”

Jackson’s spent enough time with his demons right out there, front and center for everyone to see. He doesn’t really want to talk about it as well. But as he sinks down under the covers, the babies move and he knows that he doesn’t want to risk them, either. He needs to figure this out, before he gets bored in bed and loses his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter or Happy Passover or plain old Happy Sunday, depending on what you celebrate! We're working our way towards resolutions (only three more chapters to go after this!) and I hope y'all are still enjoying. Thank you for reading and for your comments; you guys make it fun to do this. The next part will post on Wednesday, April 8. See you then, and in the meantime, come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	6. December

_December_

 

“I’m sick of being in bed with you.” Jackson glares at Derek, adding a growl under his words, but it doesn’t phase his alpha in the least. He nudges at Derek, tries to push him out of bed, but he won’t go. “I mean it. I’m sick of being in bed. I’m sick of always having someone here. I’m sick of that person mostly being you.”

“But you feel better,” Derek points out. He shifts to rise up over Jackson, bearing him back against the stack of pillows, fitting them hip to hip. Derek’s hands slide under Jackson’s shirt, nudging it up to bare his belly so Derek can lean down to kiss it. “You aren’t passing out anymore.”

“I’m also bored out of my mind and going insane because I can’t have sex,” Jackson grumbles. When Derek arches an eyebrow, he scowls. “That last part wasn’t supposed to be out loud.”

“But it _was_ out loud.”

“Yeah, it was.” And it’s frustrating as all fucking hell because Jackson’s in the late months of his pregnancy and with Derek beside him, his scent filling his nose, sex is all he can think about. But for the last month, since he passed out, he’s been under orders not to do anything that would possibly exhaust him, which means sex hasn’t been a possibility. Sometimes it’s just easier when Derek isn’t the one in bed with him.

While Derek has stayed with him the most often, Jackson has had others come in to stay with him for a few hours as well. He plays chess with Stiles, and video games with Danny. He watches movies with Isaac and Allison, and he just hangs out with Erica and Lydia. He’s absolutely fascinated with watching Lydia nurse Nat, amazed as always at the way the little girl’s eyes shine so brightly when she’s held by her mother.

“I spent some time with Deaton today.” Derek pushes the shirt up until it rests above the curve of Jackson’s belly. He’s stretched absolutely taut now, distended to the point of ridiculousness. He’s bigger than Erica, bigger even than anyone he’s ever seen. On the other hand, he’s been informed that he’s carrying three large, healthy children—even if he can’t tell whether they are boys are girls thanks to how tangled up they are during the scans. He can hear their heartbeats on his own now, feel them rushing against his own skin. He’s become accustomed to their presence, and wonders what it will feel like to lose that.

He’s seen how hard it has been for Lydia to accustom herself to the aftermath of pregnancy; he’s not sure he’s ready for that. As much as he is exhausted by carrying these children, it’s going to be hard to let someone else hold them instead.

Jackson realizes that Derek is silent, waiting for him to respond. He glances up, and Derek is watching him, both eyebrows in the air, his hands splayed across Jackson’s skin. There are small bulges pushing against Derek’s fingers, as if they’re trying to get him to play, and Derek obligingly presses lightly agains the questing hands. Jackson remembers what Derek said, and forms a question, “What did Deaton say?”

“Deaton said that your illness during pregnancy is most likely caused by your wolf’s need for companionship and approval—the same thing that bound you to the kanima form originally.” Derek’s fingers lightly smooth over his skin before he presses kisses to the taut surface. “The pack being near you obviously works, me being with you is better.” He licks a stripe along the line that leads down from Jackson’s belly button.

“You’re with me now,” Jackson murmurs, unwilling to disturb what might actually be about to happen because _oh fuck_ he needs it too much right now.

“We can’t have penetrative intercourse,” Derek whispers. “There’s too much of a risk that with the level of hormones and pheromones currently being produced, my wolf might interpret it as a time to knot, and that would put you at risk now. Everything else is fine.” He tugs Jackson’s sweats down just enough to bare his dick. Jackson can’t see anything over his own belly, but he can feel the way Derek wraps his hand around him, strokes him until Jackson is hard and ready. “Everything else is more than fine. Deaton actually recommends it as a way to help keep you stable until the babies are born.”

“Fuck yes.” Jackson lets his head fall back, his hips lift, fucking in between Derek’s lips as he nips at the head of his cock. He wishes he could see, but he can only feel the hand on his balls, the finger sliding behind them to tease at his rapidly slicking entrance. He wriggles, managing to free one leg from his sweats so he can let his knees fall apart, giving himself up to Derek. “Don’t stop.”

“Not going to.” Derek makes soft little pleased sounds as he nuzzles the inside of Jackson’s thigh, nips at his skin and licks between thigh and balls where the scent is strongest. He worships him, rubbing his cheek against Jackson’s cock until Jackson aches to be swallowed again and makes pleading noises.

Jackson thrusts into the air and Derek finally takes him into the warmth of his mouth, letting him fuck deep as he holds Jackson’s thigh, swallows him with a murmur of pleasure and drives a finger deep into his ass at the same time. Derek crooks his finger and Jackson’s orgasm washes through him, shuddering deeply as he spurts into Derek’s mouth.

“What about…?” Jackson manages to say before the words in his head slide away. He just watches as Derek moves to kneel next to him, quickly stripping his cock, rolling his hand hard over the head. Jackson reaches to help him, wrapping his fingers around Derek’s hard length, using his thumb to rub spit and moisture down the side of Derek’s cock, slicking the way so he can jerk him off quick and hard until he comes all over Jackson’s chest.

He feels lax in the wake of the orgasm, loose and easy and finally calm. He’s tired, but not exhausted. He feels normal, if normal means pregnant with triplets and naked and sticky in his lover’s arms.

He almost says something, almost whispers the words that mean so much. Instead he just watches as Derek lies there with his head on Jackson’s chest, his hand stroking over his belly, talking to their children within the womb.

#

“Have you picked out names yet?” Erica has a bowl of popcorn perched on her stomach and she’s alternately eating it and stringing it on a long strand of yarn. “We’ve decided to go traditional for this one.”

“Traditional. Like stringing popcorn for the Christmas tree traditional?” Isaac raises an eyebrow and Erica throws a handful of popcorn at him. He raises both hands, a curl of paper wrapped around his fingers. “I’m doing everything you asked, Erica, so don’t throw popcorn at me. Boyd’s not going to be happy if we have to make him go buy more and of it and pop it for us.”

“Just keep chaining wishes.” She jabs a finger at the pile of paper near him, and Jackson snorts softly.

He has a stack of construction paper on the bed and he’s carefully cutting long ribbons out of it, each piece with a wish written on it by someone in the pack. With as many people as they have in the house, as well as some of the parents and siblings adding their holiday wishes in, it’s a large stack. Jackson hopes they don’t try to put the chain on the tree when it’s done, or they’ll never find the tree under it.

Jackson doesn’t bother cutting quickly. Since Isaac has to make each one into a ring and create the chain of wishes, he figures he’s got time. “What sort of traditional, Erica?”

“Boyd’s family gives the first born child the grandmother’s maiden name as a middle name, and we thought if we’re giving our little girl something from her paternal grandmother, she ought to have something from her maternal grandmother as well, so she’ll be Sophie Barrett Boyd.” Erica pats her stomach. “Best part is, she’s got good hearing, and every time I say her name now, she does somersaults. Can’t wait until she can kick someone else’s kidneys after she’s born, because she’s using mine as a launch pad all the time now.”

“I’ve been thinking about my brother,” Isaac says quietly.

“Yeah?” Erica glances at him, and Isaac sets the papers aside, folds his hands over his belly since he can’t really do anything else with them.

Isaac shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know what they are yet, just that there’s two of them here.” He runs his hand over his stomach. “And I also know I hate being pregnant and I know how fucking pleased Scott is, but I’m probably never doing this again, so if I want to name one of them for Camden, I have to do it now.”

“You won’t even do it again for his knot?” Erica snorts when Isaac glares at her.

“I am _not_ getting pregnant again,” Isaac says dryly. “We’re having three babies between me and Allison. I think that’s going to keep us busy for a while.”

Jackson wonders if the number of babies in a pack has any effect on how an omega’s heat cycles respond. If there were research about it, Lydia or Stiles would probably have said something. Other packs must have had this happen, where the entire pack reproduces at once, right? He’ll put Stiles on research; it would be good to know, before his heat comes around again.

“Anyway.” Isaac picks up a strand of paper, curls it carefully and staples it in a circle linked to the rest of the chain. “If I’m never doing this again, I want to name one of my kids after my brother. I just don’t know what Scott would think of that.”

“Have you talked about names yet?” Jackson tosses another stack of cut strips into Isaac’s to-do pile.

“We’ve got four months to go for me, and three for Allison. We’ve barely talked about whether we’re putting our kids in the pack nursery or if we’re setting up our own. Scott keeps waffling on the idea; I think it’s an alpha problem.” Isaac pokes at the strips rather than picking up another one.

“Talk to him,” Erica says. “It’s Scott. Nicest guy on the face of the earth, remember? Allison’s the devious one, and you’re the asshole in that relationship, while sun shines out Scott’s ass. He’s stupid in love with you and he’ll do anything you want. Besides.” She smiles, and it’s the gentlest expression Jackson can remember seeing on her face. “I think it’s sweet.” She strings two more pieces of popcorn, then pauses to eat a handful. “What about you, Jackson? Got names picked out?”

“We have a list,” he says dryly, and he isn’t joking. He could open the drawer to the nightstand and pull out the notepad where they’ve been making notes, but there are too many to list off easily. Every night they each write down a few and look them over, and the next night they cross out the ones they can’t stand. The boy names are in the front of the notebook, and the girl names in the back, and so far they haven’t come to agreement on any of them. “Not knowing what I’m having isn’t helping at all. We’ve both got different ideas of what makes a good name, and Derek doesn’t want to do anything until he sees their eyes.”

It doesn’t make sense to Jackson. Whether the baby is a were or not doesn’t impact the name for him; all he cares about is whether the name sounds good and if the kids are going to be Whittemores or Hales. He supposes, in the end, he’s stuck with them being solely Hales, since he _is_ having them on Derek’s behalf.

It bothers him, though, and he can’t figure out how to bring it up with Derek.

There are footsteps on the stairs and Jackson tilts his head, listening to the specific cadence, then hearing the underlying snuffling sound of Nat’s snuffling snores as she snoozes. By the time Lydia nudges the door open, Jackson’s already grinning, pushing at Erica as they both reach for the child.

“She’s asleep,” Lydia whispers, giving them both a dark look. “Let me hold her while she sleeps. You two can argue over her when she’s awake and cranky because she can’t figure out _why_.”

“Scott says that Stiles says that babies have a boot cycle,” Isaac muses. He has yet to cuddle Nat, or if he has, it’s been when Jackson wasn’t there. Isaac usually watches the infant with a wary look, as if being near her might make his own arrive too soon. “He says it’s like… they wake up, and they go through a list—are they wet, are they hungry, are they tired—and when they can’t figure out why they bothered to wake up, they cry.”

“It’s called human contact,” Jackson says dryly. “Remember the reason why everyone’s in my bed with me? It’s a pack thing, and given how much of a cuddler you are when Scott and Allison are around, I’d think you’d remember.”

“It’s ironic that our most prickly pack member is the one who needs snuggles the most, isn’t it?” Erica curls in against his shoulder. “We’re going to rip away the prickles and get to your gooey marshmallow core, Jackson. Just you wait.”

“I don’t have a marshmallow core.” When she laughs, he bares his teeth and flashes his eyes at her, but Erica’s never been afraid of him. She just offers him popcorn and grins when he takes it from her hand with his teeth.

“Think about what it’ll be like next year,” Lydia murmurs. “Nat will already be a year old, and we’ll have babies everywhere. Each year it’ll get more chaotic, and we’ll have children for Christmas.”

“Isn’t Stiles enough of a child for us?” Isaac deadpans.

“Yes,” Jackson agrees, although he can see what Lydia means. It isn’t hard to imagine, the way Christmas will be with their small ones toddling around on wobbly feet, flashing eyes and growling softly when they don’t get their way. He touches his stomach, presses against it just a bit and feels the answering motion. “It’s going to be chaos, and Stilinski will be at the front of it all.”

He doesn’t think he’s going to mind.

#

Christmas is chaos even without the children. Everyone comes to the pack house, from siblings to parents. There are no secrets anymore, not where close family is concerned. Most of their siblings are old enough to help with Maggie and Nat, although Danny’s youngest sister Isobel is barely six, and Boyd’s older brother Damon brings his wife and new infant son.

Maggie is in her element, thrilled at the attention, wondering how many of the presents under the tree belong to her. She growls at Nat, miming fangs and showing Isobel how werewolves sleep (turning around three times on all fours before she curls up in a ball) and run (on all fours, loping around the living room) and how they fight and play.

The house is full with Boyd’s two siblings, and Danny’s six, as well as parents for every pack member.

It’s joyous and noisy and Jackson is absolutely trapped on the sofa where Derek carefully helped him settle earlier, unable to escape the people who come and go, insisting on talking to him.

It is simultaneously the best day he’s had since becoming pregnant and the worst. He feels amazing, the energy so high that he can almost see it around him, feel it brushing against his skin. But by the end of it, he is tired of people and just wants to get away to somewhere quiet for a while.

Jackson catches Derek’s eye and nods at the door, and a moment later Derek is next to him, leveraging one arm under Jackson’s shoulder to help him stand. They apologize to Melissa and Lydia’s mom as Derek helps him from the room, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas along the way.

“I hate people,” Jackson mutters, knowing the pack will understand and the humans won’t hear him.

“All you have to do is say you’ve had enough,” Derek points out quietly. “We all know you, Jackson. If you can’t be king, you don’t want to have to be there at all.”

It occurs to Jackson then that he will never be _king_ again. He’s an adult now. He’s going to finish his degree, work in some kind of a job, and every celebration for the rest of his life will center around his children, and perhaps someday around their children as well.

He stops walking, not sure how to process that thought.

In the larger view of the world, he means nothing now.

“Thank you for that disturbing thought,” he murmurs as they start moving again. “Just get me up to the room; I know someone will come up later. It’s already late anyway.”

“I’m not going to leave you on Christmas,” Derek says dryly. “This is our last Christmas without kids bouncing on the bed, begging for presents, or begging for food. Next year you’ll spoil them rotten with the best toys and the best clothes, and teach them how to rip paper excitedly. This year is for us.”

“It’s not like it’s romantic.”

“Why not?” Derek twists Jackson around, manages to get an arm behind his knees and picks him up bridal style. “Are you saying I don’t know how to be romantic?” He moves down the hallway quickly, taking the steps two at a time up to the hall where their room is. Derek twists around to back through the door, careful not to jam Jackson’s head into the doorway.

There’s a moment when Jackson’s breath hitches, where he catches the words before they come out, because Derek makes him laugh out loud and he finds himself curled in close, head on Derek’s shoulder.

He feels it then, feels it wrap around his heart, heat his body, warm him from head to toe.

He just doesn’t know what to do with it.

Jackson smirks, lets his claws tip out as he pulls Derek’s shirt away from his body, scratches lightly. “Does this mean you’re going to worship me like the god I am?”

Derek looks down at him, expression soft, smile lifting the corners of his mouth just enough to make him seem a little loose and almost happy. “If you want to be worshipped, then I’m going to worship you. Tonight’s all about whatever you want, until you are so limp and done that you sleep for a week.”

“It’s going to take a lot to wear me out that much.”

“I might have laid in a supply of strawberries, chocolate, and other treats, just in case we need sustenance.” Derek sets Jackson down and makes quick work of tugging his sweater over his head, then opening the buttons on his shirt. His fingernails flick against Jackson’s nipples as he pushes the shirt off and as soon as his chest is bare, Derek leans in, capturing one sensitive nipple to suck into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. “Tonight is about _you_ ,” he repeats softly, words whispered into Jackson’s skin. “Whatever makes you comfortable, whatever gets you off. You are carrying my cubs, and this is…” Derek hesitates, and Jackson pulls back, looks down.

“What?” Jackson asks, curious where that thought could’ve been going.

“Finish stripping and turn around.” Derek swats Jackson’s ass. “Lean on the bed, ass in the air. I’m going to eat you out until you’ve come three times.”

The thought is amazing—Jackson can’t argue that he _likes_ this plan—but something sinks in his heart. For a moment he’d thought Derek was going to say something other than sex.

On the other hand, the sex is good. It’s always good with them. It’s always hard and fast or long and intense. It’s like they fit together perfectly, and Jackson can’t imagine sex with anyone else; there hasn’t _been_ anyone else in years.

Even if it’s just sex, maybe it’s worth it. If he were going to quit, he would’ve done it years ago, before he said yes to carrying Derek’s cubs. He’s in too deep now to look back.

Jackson shimmies out of his pregnancy jeans, kicks them aside before he leans down like Derek suggested, loving the way the position takes the weight of his belly off of his spine. For a moment he just sways and sighs, loving the freedom of it and wishing that it would be safe for Derek to just fuck into him like this.

There’s a light touch to his flank, fingers drifting over his skin, and Jackson whines, wanting more. He doesn’t want gentle, he doesn’t want to be confused or reminded how he feels. He just wants to lose himself in the brutality of sex and orgasms, to come so many times that he doesn’t remember his own name.

“Fuck me, Derek,” he whispers, but Derek doesn’t listen.

Instead Derek takes him apart inch by inch, moment by moment, gentle and easy and careful until Jackson cries against the comforter, hungry and begging for release, screaming when it finally comes. Derek dismantles him until he has to lift Jackson into a comfortable position on the bed and cradle him close, holding him and carrying him into the dawn of the next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting there! And OMG, this almost didn't get posted. My Mac died, and I luckily had a backup go to Dropbox right before the death (like, we're talking I was shutting the Mac down and backing things up and it went POOF). I managed to get the file open on my PC (I use Scrivener, so I had to install that) and here we are. PHEW. What did we learn today? BACK UP FILES!! Gah. Seriously. Heart is still hammering SO HARD.
> 
> ANYWAY. The next chapter will post on Sunday, April 12th, and the final chapter will follow on the Wednesday after that. We are in the home stretch! Thank you for all your lovely comments, and I hope you continue to enjoy as we approach resolution. Take care all, and in the mean time, see you [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


	7. January

_January_

 

There is something about the new year that seems to help Jackson’s condition. Deaton can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but not long after Christmas, Jackson is able to get out of bed and move around for short periods without experiencing dizziness or exhaustion. He makes his way downstairs to the living room most days and stays there, but there are also times where he finds his way outdoors to enjoy the cool air and warm sun. It makes it easier to bear being almost eight months pregnant with three small cubs who seem determined to make their way out of his makeshift womb through his skin.

He’s sitting outside, wrapped in a blanket because he doesn’t have a jacket that even comes close to closing around his belly, when Derek finds him before dinner. Jackson looks up, inhales and smells spaghetti sauce on the air. “Stiles is cooking,” he says.

“Stiles is cooking,” Derek confirms. “Meatballs, sausage, and boneless ribs are in the sauce, and plenty of pasta and garlic bread. Danny made something chocolate for dessert.” He settles in next to Jackson on the bench, rather than helping him stand the way Jackson expects. “Erica was demanding dessert before dinner when I walked out the door, and I think Boyd is trying to keep her from opening the oven before it’s done cooking.”

“I’d rather have the meatballs.” The idea of them is enticing, the spicy flavor bursting over his tongue. Even the twinge of discomfort from one of the triplets isn’t enough to dissuade Jackson with the reminder of the indigestion he will have later. He rubs idly at the spot that aches, trying to will the pain away.

Derek settles on the bench beside him, his arm a solid space behind Jackson’s back, giving him something warm to lean into. “You okay?”

“Uncomfortable,” Jackson says dryly, as if that isn’t just a way of life for him right now. “They’ve reached the point where every time they move around it goes past discomfort and into actual moments of pain.”

Derek leans in, one hand over Jackson’s lap, his mouth nuzzling at Jackson’s throat. “Only one more month,” he murmurs. He reaches up, slides his hand over Jackson’s belly and makes a contented sound. “You are so perfect carrying my pups.”

“Of course I am; I’m perfect at everything.” Jackson rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the shot of pain that lances low across his belly, wrapping around to his back. He can’t hide the soft grunt, the way his breathing shifts, and Derek pulls back.

“I was going to offer to distract you—”

“I don’t want to be distracted,” Jackson snaps.

Derek lifts his hand, strokes it over the nape of Jackson’s neck. “I can see that. Is it getting worse? You’ve winced twice since I came out here.”

It’s nothing. Jackson _knows_ there is a whole lot of nothing that happens before the birth ever comes, but these _twinges_ are a really _uncomfortable_ nothing. When he hesitates, Derek’s hand grips the nape of his neck more closely, and Jackson growls at him. He is _not_ going to be some whiny omega who can’t take a little bit of pain from practice contractions.

“I’m _fine_.”

“You don’t look or smell fine.” Derek’s voice is flat, his hand still at the base of Jackson’s neck.

“I said I’m _fine_.” Jackson pushes, stumbles off the bench and catches his balance with a wide-legged stance to account for the bulk of his belly. He scowls at Derek for making him this way, turning him into an ungainly, whiny, irritable mess. “I’m going to go inside and just… leave me alone.”

Derek is silent for a long moment, his expression quiet and closed off. “Fine. I’ll see you for dinner.”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for company.” Jackson turns on his heel, stalks off with as much dignity as he can muster despite the waddle in his step and the fresh round of pain that makes him want to double over and cry out. He _will_ get through this, and he _will_ be fine, but he can’t deal with people. Which is a pity, since he was starting to look forward to those fucking meatballs.

#

There’s a rap on the door to the bedroom, but Jackson can’t find the words to answer. The pain is so bad and so close to continuous that he has his eyes scrunched and he sees bright red light all around him. He pants through the worst of it, then struggles to breathe deeply.

The knock comes again, along with Lydia’s sharp words, “I am going to open this door, Jackson, and I am going to come inside. The entire pack is on edge, and Derek’s told everyone to leave you alone, but I know you’re hungry. I’ll leave the plate and go; you don’t have to deal with pretending to be nice.”

Jackson doesn’t look up when the door creaks slightly, he simply curls around his belly and lets out a mournful, low howl. It’s echoed from the depths of the house, and there are thundering footsteps somewhere in the distance. The plate crashes to the floor, the sound shattering in his eardrums as shards skitter everywhere, the meatballs spread out in a puddle. Lydia’s hand falls against his shoulder, almost cold against his hot skin.

“Jackson?” she asks worriedly. “How could the pack not hear you? Smell you? Can’t they tell when you’re in trouble?”

“Soundproofed room.” Derek’s words are short and clipped as he pushes through the doorway. Jackson can smell the others in the hall, hear the soft sounds of whimpers and almost howls that echo his own piteous noises. “What’s happening, Jackson?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Lydia scolds. “He’s in labor. The babies are coming.”

Jackson reaches out, grips her slender wrist. “It’s just fake contractions,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. “It’s too soon for the real thing.”

He feels the bed dip behind him, the shift and change as Derek stretches out and curls around him. The pain eases when Derek touches him, leeching it away, and he sighs even as Derek snarls. “There’s too much pain for it to be Braxton-Hicks,” he mutters. “This is either full labor or something’s wrong. Lydia, get Deaton on the phone. Scott, Stiles, come help me get Jackson down to the birthing room.”

This isn’t happening. It _can_ _’t_ be happening. It’s too soon, too early. The babies are too young.

Jackson isn’t _ready_.

However, he can’t protest as Derek lifts him easily, Scott and Stiles helping guide them through the halls and open doors until they reach the new birthing room that had been installed so that Jackson, Isaac, and Jordan wouldn’t have to go to the veterinary office in order to give birth. It still smells like antiseptic, the scent acrid and enough to make Jackson push at his nose, trying to get the scent out.

“Help me lay him down properly,” Derek orders. They manage to get the bed set up with Jackson’s feet up, and _holy shit_ they think this is happening.

Jackson twists against the three men holding him down. “It’s not _time_ ,” he protests. “I don’t have to do this now.”

Derek cradles one of Jackson’s hands in his, lifts it to his lips. “Yes, you do,” he says quietly. “And I’ll be here with you. You’re an omega; your body is built for this, and I’m going to take your pain. Everyone else will be waiting, and Deaton and Melissa will be here soon. It’s time to meet our babies, Jackson.”

Pain slides through him, knotting him up from the inside out. Jackson can’t escape it, can’t do anything but ride the wave and pray for it to end. Derek is holding on tight, and Jackson gives in, lets Derek support him. When he wraps his fingers around Derek’s hand, he hears the sharp crack of bones breaking, feels them heal again almost as quickly.

“I’m here,” Derek whispers. “I’m not leaving.”

#

Jackson has vague memories of the birth and the time after. He remembers Melissa, and a cool cloth Derek held to his head. He remembers pain—he’s sure he’s never going to forget the pain. He thinks he might have screamed at Derek that his knot wasn’t worth it, heard the laughter from Melissa and felt the flush of embarrassment from Derek.

He remembers pushing, crying, screaming. He remembers distinctly that all three babies were healthy.

He remembers murmuring names, listening to the scratch of a pen as Derek wrote.

Then he finally slept, waking when the pack comes in, barely interacting he’s so exhausted. There is one baby curled against him, and he won’t let go, won’t let them have it. This one is _his_ and he has to protect it more than the others; he’s sure of it.

When he wakes again, there’s an infant snuggled against his bare chest, making soft whuffling sounds as it sleeps. He can hear the low sounds and heartbeats of two more infants, and Derek’s pulse shifts to wakefulness as Jackson moves.

“Blake,” Derek says quietly. “That’s Blake Talbot, named after my father, just like you insisted.”

That’s another vague memory, arguing that _this one_ had to be Blake, this particular cub had to honor Derek’s father. Jackson inhales, and the pup shifts in his arms, opens curious eyes. When Jackson flashes his own, there is no response save a placid smile.

“He’s human,” Jackson murmurs, touching his finger to Blake’s lip and loving the way the infant sucks at it, tries to use it like a nipple. It makes his chest ache weirdly, some vestigial sense of the idea of nursing that male omegas must have. He’s just looking for Derek when a bottle is placed against Blake’s lips, and Jackson takes it, balancing it carefully while the infant suckles happily.

“Yes,” Derek says dryly. “You insisted that we name our human son after my father, then wouldn’t let the pack near him. _I_ _’ve_ barely held him. You’re a bit protective.”

Jackson lets his fingers drift through the thick shock of dark hair atop the infant’s head and smiles. “He looks like you.”

“And Daniel looks like you.” Derek gathers up both babies from the bassinets and sits on the edge of the baby to introduce them. The little boy has pale brown hair and blue eyes that flash yellow as soon as he sees Jackson. “This is Daniel Jefferson, and this little princess is Elena Michelle.” She yawns when she hears her name and buries her face against the crook of Derek’s arm, but not before Jackson can see the faint spray of freckles across her nose. “She’s also a werewolf, but lazy as hell about flashing her eyes. Nothing seems to irritate her. I fully expect her to lead the other two around by the nose once they’re all moving.”

“She’s going to be an alpha, isn’t she?” It seems so obvious to Jackson, like he can feel the pull of his daughter’s power, even this young.

“I think she is.” Derek nudges Jackson slightly, making a space for himself on the bed, the babies curled between the two of them. “I took care of the birth certificates while you were unconscious.”

They’d made arrangements to have them filed with no maternal name, the registrar under the impression that it was a sealed adoption and that the mother had waived all rights.

Jackson is mid nod when Derek pulls out a piece of paper, hands it to him. It’s awkward to unfold it with only one hand, and it’s difficult to read with all three certificates copied onto one page, slightly shrunken down. But he figures out what Derek is showing him quickly when he spots the full surname of each child: Whittemore-Hale.

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and he growls softly. He’d thought that would end when the babies were born and his hormones retreated back to normal levels, but it appears he was mistaken.

“Those had better be happy tears,” Derek mutters, and when Jackson looks over, Derek is staring down, refusing to meet his eyes. He smells _nervous_.

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Jackson means for the words to come out flippant, but instead his voice shakes, taut with nerves.

“These babies are _ours_ ,” Derek says quietly, kissing the top of Daniel’s head. “I know I asked you to… I know I asked you to have my children, to give _me_ children, but that’s not all I want. You’re their father. You should be a part of their life. Permanently.”

“This thing we have, it’s just sex,” Jackson says carefully.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Derek reaches for his hand, tangles their fingers together. “You’re the only omega—the only _person_ —I want in my bed. The only one that’s been there for a long time. Maybe we should just start with that and see where we end up?”

“Are you asking me to be your baby daddy in life, as in spirit?” Jackson smirks. “Why Derek, I didn’t know you cared.”

Derek doesn’t smile, his expression intense. “How could you _not_ know?” he asks softly. “I love you, you idiot. Did you think I wanted you to have my cubs just because you’re a good fuck?”

“I…” Jackson isn’t often speechless, but this is the most blunt he and Derek have ever been, and it’s exactly what Jackson wanted to hear. “Good,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Since I’ve been stupid enough to fall in love with you, it’s good to know the feelings are returned.”

Derek snorts. “You’re such an ass.”

“But I’m _your_ ass.” Jackson would wiggle his ass, emphasizing the double-entendre, but to be honest, he doesn’t even want to _think_ about it right now. “Or at least this ass will be yours when I’ve recovered, because right now, I’m tempted to tell you to never touch me again.”

“You’ll change your mind eventually.” There’s a certainty in Derek’s voice, and Jackson thinks about giving him shit about it, except he knows that Derek’s right.

“Probably,” he says aloud, laughing when Derek nudges at him, nips at his shoulder. They kiss, idly necking until Elena wakes up, demanding her own breakfast with a thin, sharp cry that wakes Daniel as well.

It’s good to lie in bed with Derek, three infants between them, idly talking as they feed them. Jackson’s pretty sure he could do this for the rest of his life.

#

Jackson isn’t able to be with Erica when she gives birth only a week after he does, but he insists on being in the living room to welcome her home, despite being on orders of bed rest for his own recovery. It isn’t fair that not only are male omegas more likely to have multiple births, but they also take longer to recover after the fact.

The rest of the pack quickly takes Jackson’s need to remain mostly still as an excuse to leave him with the babies while they nap, until he often finds himself piled with five small infants, while Isaac and Parrish stay nearby, asking him to recount the details of giving birth _again_.

The fact that he doesn’t remember much doesn’t dissuade them. All he has to do is mention pain and Isaac blanches, going ghost white and breathing roughly until he recovers. There is a part of Jackson that finds it amusing, except he remembers being scared, too, and he reminds Isaac quietly that he shouldn’t worry, because no matter what, he’ll come out the other side just fine.

Parrish, on the other hand, is simply irritating. He has perfect skin, a perfect smile, and at halfway through his pregnancy he hasn’t even started to show. Jackson is jealous as fuck and hides it behind his own smirking smile and polite conversation. The worst of it is that he can’t _dislike_ Parrish. The man’s as likable as Peter isn’t, and Jackson finds _that_ even more irritating.

Scott walks in while Jackson is recounting the events that he can recall for what seems like the millionth time, about a month after the birth. Daniel—now called DJ so no one confuses him with Danny—is nestled in the crook of one arm, and Blake is sprawled against his chest. Isaac has Elena, feeding her carefully as if she might break. Scott settles on the arm of Isaac’s chair, puts one hand on his shoulder, his expression proud.

“Looks like you’re getting the hang of it,” Scott says, and Isaac looks up with a rueful smile.

“I’m going to fuck this up,” Isaac says. “I never meant to have kids. I’m not going to be a good dad.”

“And you think I’ve had great influences?” Jackson laughs, shakes his head. “You’re going to be whatever kind of dad you want to be. They’re yours, Isaac. Trust me, you’ll feel it when they’re born, and I’m betting you’re feeling it now. Center of your life, aren’t they?”

Isaac flushes and Scott reaches out, helps pull him to his feet and drawing him into a hug, rubbing his face along Isaac’s jaw. They are careful of Elena, but when she squeaks indignantly, Scott apologizes and hands her back to Jackson.

“I’m stealing this one.” Scott grins, fond and disarming. “I need him and Allison for something.”

“I’ve heard about your _something_ from Danny and Stiles,” Jackson calls after them as they leave. He tries not to listen, but Scott’s not quiet, and he clearly hears something about knotted dildos and screaming and making Allison come until she can’t anymore.

He might be vaguely jealous if the idea of sex didn’t still sound so awful to him.

Eventually, he’s sure he’s going to want it. And eventually Deaton will clear him again for sex; right now Jackson is still considered healing, and Deaton’s said it’s going to be at least another month before his body is back to normal after carrying triplets. Possibly longer.

Jackson’s okay with it. His relationship isn’t just about sex. It’s about putting three babies down in their bassinet at night after curling together with Derek to feed them all. It’s about climbing into bed exhausted, and falling asleep with his alpha curled around him. It’s about sitting around in the evening with the pack, passing babies, talking about random things, watching movies. It’s about how Cora rubs Lydia’s feet while Jackson rubs her shoulders, and how Derek pulls Jackson onto his lap and holds on while they watch TV. It’s about Scott’s bright grin, full of pride every time he touches Allison or Isaac. It’s about Danny and Stiles talking about their startup, or Erica planning on graduating in a few months and carrying Sophie with her when she walks.

It’s about holding onto the acceptance information to a local university until Derek gets home, showing him the letter and the plan for Jackson to finish his degree over the summer and fall, and then move directly into the business law program. It’s about sitting with their heads together, going over the details of Derek’s real estate business, making sure that all the contracts are perfect, making small amendments and creating new boiler plate for leases that will be better for both Derek as a landlord, and for his tenants.

Jackson’s life is about family now. It’s about Derek, and his triplets. It’s about moving forward into a life that is his; not the one someone planned out for him, but he one he grabbed onto and created all on his own.

It’s about love, and Jackson’s just fine with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the penultimate chapter! There's one more little epilogue to post on Wednesday which will bring things back full circle. I hope everyone has been enjoying the ride, and I shall see you on Wednesday April 15 for the last chapter! Take care, and see you [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).


	8. Chapter 8

_May, again_

 

“It’s _my_ birthday. Why is everyone talking about the baby?” Maggie plops down on Jackson’s knee, taking a moment to nudge a finger at DJ’s lips. She grins when the infant bites down, chewing awkwardly and drooling over her hand. “Okay, so maybe babies are cool,” Maggie allows with a sigh. “But what’s so special about _Peter_ _’s_ baby?”

“It’s just that he’s brand new.” Jackson shifts to make it easier to hold both the four year old girl and his son. “Everyone’s fascinated by babies when they first arrive, then we all figure out that it’s a lot of crying and poop and we’ll need to snuggle them all equally. But the thing is, we’re a pack, and you’re the oldest of the kids. So you’re going to be the one _they_ all look up to when they’re growing up. It’s like you’re the big sister to all of them.”

“So I have a lot of brothers and sisters,” Maggie muses. “And that means I get to tell them what to do?”

“When they’re old enough to listen, yes, you probably will, Miss Magdalina.” Jackson can already see the Stilinski and McCall charm in the little girl, and he looks forward to seeing her with their pack of a family growing up.

“How many?” Maggie holds out her arms, and Jackson rearranges them again so that Maggie is on his lap and she’s holding DJ with his help. “How many brothers and sisters do I have?”

“Help me count.” Jackson has one hand free and he uses his fingers to count them as he names each on. “Girls first. There’s Nat and Sophie and Emmy.”

“Why do you call her Emmy?” Maggie interrupts. “Her name is _Elena_.”

“Her name is Elena Michelle Whittemore-Hale,” Jackson says solemnly. “Her initials are EM so we call her Emmy. It started because we’re calling Daniel DJ. So how many girls was that so far?”

“Nat, Sophie, Emmy.” Maggie counts carefully on DJ’s tiny little fingers. “Three!”

“And don’t forget Cameron, so that makes four, right?” Jackson taps Maggie’s nose. “And for the boys, there are DJ, Blake, Christopher, Joshua, and now Stephen. Five boys, and four girls. Can you count how many that makes?”

Maggie is slow and steady, but when she finds the answer, she crows, “Nine! I have nine brothers and sisters.”

“For now, you do,” Derek settles onto the couch next to them, his arm slung across Jackson’s shoulders. “Rumor has it you’ll have another soon.”

Maggie’s face falls. “Mommy said not to tell yet,” she whispers. “Am I in trouble?”

“It’s okay. We’re werewolves, we can figure it out before she tells us,” Derek assures her. “Just don’t tell anyone outside the pack and it’ll be okay.” He kisses the top of her head before stealing DJ back from her arms. “You’re going to be a good big sister, Maggie. Why don’t you go see Stephen. I think Peter brought something for you.”

“Of course he did, it’s my birthday!” Maggie cheers and runs off, climbing up into Peter’s lap and insinuating herself between him and Jordan while asking for both her gift and the baby.

Derek reaches out, tugs the car seat closer so he can put DJ in it. Jackson can see where Emmy is with Melissa, and Danny’s mom has Blake. The children are asleep or safe, and all is well as far as he’s concerned. When Derek tugs him back, he goes willingly into the circle of his alpha’s arms.

“Did you see Deaton today?” Derek murmurs.

“Yes. And it’s a conversation for later.” Jackson isn’t going to talk about it now, not here in the midst of the pack and extended family. There are some things he’d rather keep private.

“Mm.” Derek nuzzles the side of his head, kisses Jackson’s cheek. “We’ll leave early then. Get the cubs settled in their room, spend some time in our soundproofed room, having a _conversation_ about anything you want.”

Jackson’s ass goes slick, aching at the implication. He can feel the heat rising, and he pushes back, moving slightly against Derek and feeling his reaction.

“But first, there’s been something I’ve been meaning to ask.” Derek nips at his throat, closes his teeth over skin and sucks gently. Jackson whimpers, and Derek laughs softly into his skin.

“Ask, then.” Because he wants whatever this conversation is to be over so they can go home. The longer he thinks about it, the more he feels Derek’s hand against his thigh, the more Jackson wants to be back in bed. Because this time it won’t be boring. And he won’t want to get out of it right away.

“Jackson.” It’s just his name, but it’s accompanied by the way Derek moves his hand, reaching over Jackson, holding a ring between his thumb and forefinger. Derek doesn’t say anything else, just holds the ring there in view, hovering near Jackson’s hand, right where he could slip it on.

It’s a _nice_ ring. A thick band, studded with diamond chips. Definitely an engagement ring, and just as definitely meant for a man.

Jackson’s throat goes dry. “ _Ask_ ,” he says.

“Marry me,” Derek whispers. “Stay with me and our cubs. Have more cubs someday, and be my partner in all things. Be part of my pack, yes, but _be mine_.”

The room has gone silent of adult voices, the only sounds a background of rapid heartbeats, slow breaths, and babies murmuring. Jackson hears Maggie make a disgruntled noise before she’s quickly shushed.

“Yes.”

Sound rushes in with a shout and a kiss to his cheek as Derek slides the ring over his finger. The other wolves pile on them, careful of the sleeping baby but eager to give hugs in congratulations, asking questions about dates and plans that Jackson pushes off. It can’t be quick; it has to be a wedding befitting of the pack alpha. And through it all, Derek is wrapped around him, his lips pressed close to Jackson’s ear.

“I want to go home,” Derek whispers, and Jackson is quick to agree.

“Pack up the babies,” he orders, lifting DJ’s car seat. “Let’s go.”

#

They walk into the pack house slowly, Jackson carrying one baby seat and two bags, while Derek has the other two babies in their own seats. It’s an awkward progression, straight through the house after kicking the door closed, up the stairs and into the nursery. It takes time to lay the babies in their respective beds, make sure that each one is sleeping, at least for now, and that all are secure. Jackson touches the power on the baby monitor and winces at the buzz; as much as he hates the sound, it’s the only thing they can use because of the soundproofing on their room blocking normal wolf hearing.

Derek’s hand falls to the small of Jackson’s back, guiding him from one room to the next, and Jackson can’t help but compare this to a year ago. That was frenzied, this is calm. That was anxious and hungry, this is no less filled with want on Jackson’s part, but he’s settled and relaxed. He knows what he wants, and he knows that desire is returned. When he moves his hand, the ring flashes on his finger, and he realizes that Derek wears a match on his own hand.

“Partners,” Derek says, wiggling his finger. “We’ve claimed each other.” It puts them on equal footing, with matching rings that show that they are together, and Jackson’s just fine with that. He works at the buttons on his shirt as Derek crowds in close to him, nudging him back against the wall.

Derek pushes under the shirt, nudging it up as he helps with the buttons, his mouth buried against Jackson’s neck to nuzzle him. “Did you say you’d talked to Deaton?”

“Mm-hm.” Jackson abandons his own shirt, leaves Derek to finish with the buttons so that Jackson can work the fly of Derek’s jeans open instead. He shoves his hand in, fingers brushing against the bulge.

“And?”

Jackson pulls back, lets his eyes flash bright blue as he grins sharply. “I’m cleared. _Fuck me_.”

Derek growls and wraps his arms around Jackson, twisting them to toss Jackson on the bed. Jackson scrambles backwards, legs falling splayed as Derek surges between his legs to cover him, teeth scraping hard against his throat. Fuck, it’s good, it’s so good. Jackson’s already wet and hard and aching, more than ready.

They struggle to strip, clothes lost to the battle with claws and tossed to one side until Jackson is spread open and Derek kneels between his legs, face pressed into the crook of his groin, tongue lapping at the slick. “Oh fuck,” Jackson whines, and Derek obliges with his tongue, pressing into Jackson hard, licking him open with swift, rough movement. The scratch of his beard scrapes against Jackson’s thigh and balls, and he cries out, already close to the edge, but Derek wraps his fingers around the base of Jackson’s dick and presses tightly.

“Not yet,” Derek rumbles.

Derek stretches out on the bed, tugs Jackson to straddle him. He brings Jackson up his chest so he can lick at the tip of Jackson’s dick while sliding three fingers into his ass, fucking him slowly. Jackson rocks between the two sensations, whining as he digs his fingers into Derek’s shoulders, holding on and trying to keep composure.

“Not yet,” Derek whispers again. “Not until I tell you. Not until I’m fucked into you so deep and hard that you’ll be feeling me for days. Not until I’m filling you up.” He grips Jackson’s hips, slowly pushes him down towards his cock. Derek has to let go with one hand so he can guide himself to Jackson’s entrance, but Jackson is so slick that he slips past the tight ring of muscle easily, pushing in deep with one upward thrust of Derek’s hips at the same time as Jackson sits back, hard.

“It feels so fucking good.” Jackson is panting from the effort of trying not to orgasm. “I’ve missed this,” he admits, voice rough. “I’ve missed having you inside me. I’ve missed fucking you. It’s the one thing… we were always good at this.” He starts moving because he can’t _not_ move, his hips jerking as he slides up and down on Derek’s cock. “But it’s… we’re close now. You’re _inside_ me. And I need this, Derek. I need this.” He chokes on the words, cries out as his movements stutter and Derek takes the time to shove in hard and deep. “Oh God, _I need you_.”

Derek growls, and he pumps hard, moving fast and deep into Jackson, anxious and hungry and driving to the end. “Now,” Derek orders. “ _Now_ , come _now_.”

And Jackson does, all over Derek’s chest, cock spurting thick white stripes. He comes with Derek pumping sticky, hot fluid into his ass, with Derek’s claws tipped and biting into his hips. He comes so hard he sees stars, so hard that he can’t breathe for a moment when it’s done, and when he collapses forward onto Derek’s chest, he feels Derek’s hands slide up his back, holding him close.

He’s safe and warm and finally sated.

They roll to the side in slow motion, Jackson cradled against Derek’s chest. He’s warm where skin touches skin, and his ass is cooling quickly in the air and more than a little sticky but he doesn’t care. He loves the fact that the room smells like them again, like musk and spunk and love. He presses his hand to Derek’s skin, feels the heartbeat that he can hear, and smiles.

“What are you thinking?” Derek asks, idly playing with Jackson’s fingers, toying with the ring.

“I’m thinking that we’re idiots to have taken this long to get here,” Jackson murmurs, pressing a kiss to his shoulder to take some of the sting from his words. “And I’m thinking that I can’t wait to see where we are a year from now.”

“Here,” Derek says simply. “I know exactly where we’ll be. Right here, together.”

And that sound good, Jackson thinks. Even more than that, it sounds perfect.

He no longer has to come home to remember how to breathe; all he needs is Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, we're done! Thank you for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed. I'm sure there will be more Halemore and more Jackson-centric fics in the future, but in the meantime, you can always find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me [on tumblr](http://tryslora.tumblr.com)!


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